Holding Our Own in a Great Big Storm
by L.C. Carraway
Summary: Twenty-five years ago, Eadlyn Schreave competed in her own Selection to find her husband, Kile Woodwork. Now, it's their wayward son Oliver's turn. SYOC
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hello! This is my project for the summer, and I'm very pleased with it thus far. If anyone would like to create a character for the Selection, please feel free to send her in! I've never done something like that, but I think it's a great way to get readers involved. Just be sure to include as much detail as possible about her characteristics and any pertinent information. Thanks for reading!

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Mornings were always one of Eadlyn's favorite times of the day. Aside from the fact that she was certain that the palace retained the best chefs in the world to prepare their breakfasts, it was the only time in the day that truly felt like hers. She usually started the morning with a cup of coffee in her own rooms with Kile as she looked over the morning papers, but once they finished, they would move to the dining hall to join their family.

Her father told her that when he was growing up, the palace had been quiet. At that time, the royal family had only consisted of himself and his parents. Eadlyn couldn't imagine what that was like. The palace had always been bustling and crowded when she was growing up, between her brothers, the Woodworks, and whatever members of her mother's family were visiting that week. As a child, she had found it slightly overwhelming that she had to work to find quiet areas, but now, she realized that she wouldn't have it any other way.

Since she and Kile had married twenty-five years ago, she had tried her best to emulate the example that her parents had set for her both in her reign and personal life. Although she tried not to give herself too much praise, she thought that she had done a damn good job. Illéa was reporting the highest approval ratings of the royal family in years, and surrounded by her family, most days she felt like she had a pretty good handle on things.

Although that didn't mean that everything was smooth sailing. There was one particular area that Eadlyn had struggled with for some time, and as she sipped her morning coffee on her balcony and waited for the rest of the castle to wake up, she was focusing on the concerning subject.

Usually, she didn't give much credence to gossip magazines. She found they were rarely accurate and altogether a waste of time. But it did catch her eye when too many of them started reporting similar stories, and it concerned her when the stories focused on her family. It was even worse when they focused on her oldest son and the heir to the throne.

It might have been the effect of her strong coffee on her empty stomach, but she felt a little ill as she scanned the articles. _"Prince Oliver at It Again! Will Our Royal Wild Child Ever Settle Down?"_ The headline was complimented by a photo of her twenty-year old-son being helped into a car by his body guard, clearly intoxicated. The sight—along with a subheading in the article that said "What Would the Queen Say?"—made her cheeks flush.

Another magazine had a feature titled, _"What Happens in France Doesn't Stay There!"_ made Eadlyn nearly crazy enough to call her brother, Ahren, immediately and demand to know why Oliver wasn't more closely watched during his latest visit. She wasn't sure how much use that would do, since one of the photos featured Ahren and Oliver with their arms around each other's shoulders, laughing as though they were each other's closest conspirators.

She jumped when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, and she momentarily forgot her concern when Kile placed a kiss on her cheek. "Morning, Eady," he murmured sleepily.

"Good morning," she smiled. "Coffee?"

"You always know the right things to say," he grinned as he dropped onto the couch beside her. After he had taken a few sips, he noticed the stack of magazines that surrounded his wife. "What are these?" he asked as he picked one up. His eyes bulged a moment later, and Eadlyn grimaced as she realized that the one that he had picked included an "exclusive" from a model that Oliver had apparently met in Italy. She would be placing a call to the Italian royal family later, she decided with a grimace.

"Good god, are they all like this?" demanded Kile.

"Not quite," she countered, a little defensive. She had always been accused of babying Oliver, but he was her firstborn. For some reason or another, having children hadn't been the easiest for Eadlyn, and it had taken years of trying and consulting doctors before she had Oliver. Two years later, they had welcomed his younger brother, Tristan, and another four later had brought their only daughter, Celine. While she loved her children all equally of course, Oliver had changed her life.

"I suppose he is still young," she reasoned as she folded up the magazines before Kile could find some of the worst articles.

"Eady..." sighed Kile. "When you were his age, you were married and running a country."

It was a point that many people, including her council and her own mother, had brought up to the queen. She frowned as she caught sight of a poll that questioned whether Oliver would be the best person to run the country when his mother's reign ended. It seemed that public opinion heavily favored the younger, more responsible Tristan. "Maybe we should set some guidelines, give him more duties," she admitted.

Kile picked up the magazine with the poll. "I mean, at this point, I don't know if that's enough. They've seen this side of Oliver for years. I don't necessarily blame them for being unsure if he's the right choice for the future."

"You're right," she frowned as she rose and started pacing the length of the balcony. "It might take something extreme. Something to show that he really does have the country's best interest at heart."

"And something to keep him out of trouble," added Kile as he held up the "exclusive" from the Italian model.

"I just don't want to seem like I'm forcing him to do something as a punishment," Eadlyn sighed. "You know how Oliver's always liked his freedom." She glanced out at the gardens beneath her balcony. One of her son's favorite pastimes as a child had been clambering up trees, hiding in bushes, doing whatever he could to get away from the watchful eyes of nannies and tutors, and sending everyone into a tizzy as they searched for the crown prince.

Eadlyn had usually been the one to find him. They'd always had a special bond, the two of them. She smiled at the thought. It was hard to realize that her son wasn't her little baby anymore.

"Eady," Kile began as he rose from the couch and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Oliver knows what his duties are. He does these things because you—" She cast him a dark look, and he rolled his eyes before adding, " _We_ let him. It's time for him to step up."

"I hate it when you're right," she sighed into her husband's chest as she leaned against him. It was a statement that she had repeated far too often throughout their marriage for her liking.

She had to think of something that would get Oliver to settle down and focus seriously on the future while simultaneously acting as damage control. She couldn't throw him out as the public face of the royal family or into negotiations with other countries, because there was no way that anyone would take him seriously when he was being paraded by tabloids as "The Prince of Pleasure." But at the same time, she didn't want Oliver to think that she was forcing him into something as penance for his good times. She knew what it was like to be young and want to enjoy oneself. Right after she and Kile had been married, she had shirked quite a few royal duties when the pair couldn't bring themselves to leave each other's company.

She froze as soon as the thought came into her mind. "That's it," she muttered. "Kile, you're brilliant."

"Course I am," he grinned, "But, uh, what exactly did I say?"

"A Selection."

"Oh, Jesus, here we go again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to everyone who responded to the last chapter, whether by following/reviewing/or messaging in a character! There are still many spots left, and if you have any questions about sending in a character, please just reach out to me. Updates definitely won't always be as frequent as this, but I was excited so :)

Update: Details for the SYOC are on my profile

* * *

"Oliver."

Silence.

" _Oliver._ "

Nothing.

" _Oliver!"_

Finally, a groan. A head of messy brown curls rose from a tangle of blankets and pillows and glanced around, hazel eyes bleary and unfocused. "What do you want, Tristan?" croaked the sleepy figure as he dropped his head back onto the plush pillows.

"Get up, Oliver," the intruder named Tristan ordered. "Breakfast started twenty minutes ago. Mom's got that look."

Another groan. "The I-love-Oliver-so-much-he's-the-best look or the maybe-I-should-have-shipped-him-off-to-boot-camp look?"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Which does she usually reserve for your lateness?"

"Ugh." Oliver rolled onto his back and tried to settle the pounding in his head. "Fine, fine, I'm coming."

"Good." Tristan fell into the seat at Oliver's desk and picked up a newspaper that had been carelessly discarded.

Oliver pulled himself into a sitting position and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Most people had family dinners, but unfortunately for Oliver, who was not a morning person, his crazy family decided to do breakfasts. It was hard for him to force himself out of bed on a normal morning, let alone one where he was feeling the aftermath of a night out drinking with the ambassador from Britannia's son. When the world no longer felt like it was spinning, he heaved himself out of bed.

"Dude," groaned Tristan as his brother strode by towards his closet. "Would it kill you to sleep in clothes?"

"I didn't ask for a wake up call," Oliver countered dismissively as he began sorting through a pile of clothes that he had dropped on the floor at some point. Thank God for the woman who cleaned his room or else he'd never be able to find anything. Tristan was already dressed in a pair of pressed slacks and a checkered button up, but Oliver pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a cashmere sweater and deemed it good enough.

"Happy?" he demanded as he walked out of the closet.

Tristan rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed. "Let's just go before they decide to disinherit both of us and then we're at the mercy of Celine for the rest of our lives." As they started towards the dining hall together, Tristan's nose wrinkled.

"You smell like a distillery."

"You sound like a bitch."

The brothers cast a pair of steely glares at each other for a moment before both of their faces broke into amused grins. "You ever stop getting into trouble, Ol?" chuckled Tristan.

"No, and if I ever do, call a doctor because something's wrong," Oliver joked as he threw an arm around his brother's shoulders. Although Oliver was the elder by two years, Tristan had recently become a few inches taller, to his family's amusement and Oliver's irritation. He had recently declared that Tristan would have to stand a few paces behind him in any official pictures to mask this development, and his annoyance had only grown when he found people thought it was a joke. _They'll see when it comes time for the Christmas card,_ Oliver had thought.

The dining hall was already bustling when they walked in. They were the last of the royal family to arrive, and the staff was already busy pouring drinks and taking requests. Oliver dropped a kiss on his mother's cheek and snagged a slice of bacon from his father's plate before he fell into his seat. "Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence," declared Eadlyn coolly.

"Anything for you, Mom," he replied sweetly as he took a huge gulp from Tristan's water. It didn't settle his churning stomach as much as the greasy bacon had, but it made his mouth taste less like sawdust.

She rolled her eyes, but he could see that she was trying to repress a smile. "Remember that when we have our meeting after breakfast," she ordered.

He repressed a groan and instead called one of the maids over for coffee. He didn't remember having a meeting planned, but he wasn't about to admit that and give his parents another reason to lecture him about being more responsible. He knew that one day he would have to be on top of everything all the time. It was the crux of being Eadlyn and Kile Woodwork-Schreave's firstborn. If they had been any other parents—perhaps a nice pair of professors like his best mate Elijah's mom and dad—it wouldn't mean anything.

But since Oliver had realized that as queen his mother was responsible for the lives of everyone in Illéa, he had resented his background. It seemed even more unfair that just because he was born a few years before Tristan that this responsibility would one day be his when his younger brother seemed much more suited for the job. Sure, he liked the perks of being part of the royal family. He loved traveling and meeting new people. He liked never having to cook for himself or do menial things like shop for his own jeans. But the pros seemed slim when he stacked them up against the weighty cons.

"Oliver, darling, are you listening at all?" his mother asked, the frustration in her voice only thinly veiled.

He sat up a little in his seat and turned towards his parents. His father looked outright exasperated, but he usually left the discipline to Eadlyn where Oliver was concerned. Since his father was technically king consort instead of the actual king, he seemed to believe that Eadlyn was more prepared to deal with their child that would one day step into the role of monarch. Whether that was true or not considering the soft spot Eadlyn had for Oliver remained to be seen.

"Sorry, I've just got this headache," he mumbled.

"Hangover," smirked his younger sister Celine from across the table.

"Shouldn't you be off playing with your dolls or something?" he demanded with a scowl.

"I'm fourteen, you idiot, I don't play with dolls anymore," Celine shot back.

Their Grandfather, Maxon, put a hand on Celine's arm. "Darling, don't call your brother an idiot, it's not becoming," he instructed.

"Even if it's true?" sighed Celine, seeming genuinely putout.

Oliver rolled his eyes as the rest of the table repressed snickers. Apparently it was gang up on Oliver day, and he had failed to get the memo. It didn't get much better when his father spoke up. "So, Oliver, I know you just got back from Italy recently, but I haven't had much time to ask about your visit. How was it?"

He smirked momentarily as he thought of all the fun that he had in Italy, but it quickly faded away when he noticed his parents and grandparents were all staring intently at him. "A, uh, exemplary illustration of foreign diplomacy," he replied, proud of himself for thinking of so many vague but impressive terms to string together at the drop of a hat. He had always been good at impressively responding to things that caught him off guard. It was one of his few skills that made him feel like he had a shot at being a decent leader. At the very least, it made his appearances on _The Report_ painless.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Tristan snorted, apparently unable to help himself.

"Well, Tristan, maybe you'd know if your last attempt at relations of any sort hadn't been with the Zuni governor's daughter two years ago at—"

"That's it," snapped Eadlyn as she stood up. "Oliver, my study, now. Tristan and Celine, you've each got an hour of penmanship and economics, and your father will be checking in with your tutors about your progress."

There were collective groans from all three of the children as Eadlyn strode from the room. "What I wouldn't give for an hour of penmanship," sighed Oliver as he tossed back the rest of his coffee and grabbed a slice of toast for strength.

When he joined Eadlyn in her study, his mother was pacing, which wasn't a bad sign. She only paced when she was nervous, and if she was nervous, it couldn't mean that she was too mad at him. "Sorry about breakfast, Mom," he offered, just in case she needed sweetened up anyway.

She waved the apology off and gestured to her desk where a glass of water and two aspirins had been laid out for him. "You're an angel," he grinned, turning on the charm, as he accepted the medicines and settled himself in to the seat behind her desk. "So, what's up? Briefing for our meeting?"

"This is the meeting," countered Eadlyn. "It's... personal, I suppose, for the time being. I'll be meeting with the council about it later today, but you won't have to be there for that."

He shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Is everything okay?" he asked. His sweater suddenly felt too warm, and he pushed the sleeves past his elbows. "You're not... you know, sick or—"

She laughed, which he didn't appreciate as he had been genuinely worried. "No, Ollie," she assured him, "I'm fine. It's actually you I wanted to talk about."

Great. That wasn't much better. "Is this about Italy?" he asked nervously, "Cause I promise I was well behaved around Queen Natalia and Prince Rafael. We got on quite well, actually."

Although she didn't respond, his question was answered when she slid a stack of glossy magazines onto her desk. He saw that his face was featured quite frequently on their covers, usually accompanied by some kind of incriminating headline. He gave an uncomfortable chuckle. "Have a good summer?" she asked, her expression dark.

"It wasn't as bad as it looks," he tried as he opened one of the magazines and saw himself looking absolutely plastered during one of their nights out in Barcelona.

"Oliver," his mother sighed, "This is serious, honey. Right now, your approval ratings are abysmal. You're being written off as a privileged playboy who doesn't care about his duties or people, and there's no way I could possibly hand over the crown in good conscious when the people are clamoring for your younger brother instead."

Ouch. He had never been particularly jazzed about being king, but it was tough to hear it laid out so bluntly.

"I'm sorry," he frowned. "What, uh, what do I need to do?"

She smiled, obviously pleased by his willingness to rectify the situation. "That's what I wanted to meet about," she noted. She stopped pacing and turned to face the desk. Her shoulders were squared, her chin was slightly raised, and Oliver was a little intimidated, fully aware that he was about to get an order from the Queen, not his mother.

"It's time for you to show the country that you're serious," she declared. He nodded weakly, unsure that he was going to like her plan of action but figuring that he didn't have a lot of room to negotiate at the moment. "It's time for a Selection."

Of all the things that he had expected her to say, a Selection hadn't even made the list. Her choice of "action" caught him so off guard that it took a few seconds for the outrage to set in. "A Selection?" he demanded as he jumped out of her highbacked chair. "Are you crazy?"

She glared at him but held her ground. "It's the perfect opportunity for us to do damage control with your image and give the people of Illéa the chance to root for you. Selections have always helped us sway public opinion. And besides, Oliver, it's time for you to get serious about your reign. You'll need a queen."

He didn't even pause to give any thought to any of her points. "I'm only twenty!" he argued. "They can't expect me to have it together and be ready to rule a country right now!"

"I was already married _and_ ruling when I was your age," she pointed out.

He frowned, trying to search for any kind of argument. "Well, I'm not _you,_ " was all he could come up with.

Her expression softened, and she stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Ollie, this isn't a punishment," she assured him. _Could have fooled me_ , he thought darkly. "I officially took over after my mother's heart attack as a choice, but I had to act as regent anyway until my father was able to return. What if something like that happens to me? I need you to be prepared, and I can't tell you how much I've leaned on your father throughout my reign. You're going to need someone's support."

"You say this like I have a choice," Oliver noted, his eyes narrowed. "Do I?"

Eadlyn's hand fell from his arm, and she glanced away. "No," she admitted. "The council is demanding that something be done, and this was my decision. We're meeting to finalize details later today."

"Is that all, Your Majesty?" he asked, his icy gaze trained on his mother.

She looked hurt by his response, but she quickly rearranged her face into a neutral expression. "Oliver, darling, I know you're upset, but I promise it won't be nearly as bad as you think."

"Why would I be upset?" he countered sarcastically. "Not like I'm being forced to get married, is it? Not like my home is about to be invaded by thirty-five _strangers?_ Not like my mother's using me as a pawn like I'm just another one of her subjects and not her _firstborn son_?"

He didn't give her any chance to respond as the full extent of his anger settled upon him. Instead, he strode from the study and pulled his cell phone from his pocket as he stalked back towards his own room. "Elijah," he greeted his friend, "Castle in twenty."

By the time Elijah was shown in by one of the guards, Oliver had already ordered a maid to deliver the fixings for Bloody Marys to his room. His own personal butler, Anderson, had been given strict orders that he was not to be disturbed by any members of the royal family, particularly either of his parents. "Rough morning?" Elijah asked cheerfully as he began spiking his own tomato juice with vodka.

"I'm having a Selection," spat Oliver.

Elijah choked on his tomato juice. "No shit," he laughed. "I thought they were doing away with that after your grandparents. What happened to that?"

"Guess Dad's been so great that Mom decided I should have one too," he glared. He stirred his drink with a stalk of celery for a moment before he added, "And apparently there's been some bad press from the summer. That Italian bimbo I told you about basically gave the magazines a play by play."

"Tough break," frowned Elijah. "I don't get it. People practically hide in bushes to catch you doing something wrong, then when they get what they want, they're all up in arms."

"First order of business as king is going to be to outlaw those stupid magazines," he decided, "Then they can blame each other and hate someone other than me."

Elijah rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a dramatic ass," he ordered, "People don't hate you. Mostly I don't think they care."

"Thanks," snorted Oliver. "Unfortunately, the ever important approval ratings would suggest otherwise. They want Prince Perfect instead."

"We'll take Tristan out and get him shiftfaced, and then they'll see," Elijah declared, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

"If only," Oliver smirked as he raised his glass. "God, a fucking Selection."

"I mean, I guess there's an upside to this," shrugged Elijah. "You do get to date thirty-five girls."

Oliver glanced up at the ceiling. "God... please let them be hot."

"And it's not like this is happening ASAP," he pointed out. "There's no time line for how soon you have to pick or marry one of them."

He had a point. "This is why I keep you around," sighed Oliver, feeling less stressed about the situation already.

Elijah grinned. "Because I think of the things you're too dumb to come up with?"

"Something like that," he laughed. "Want another?" he asked as he leaned forward to refill his drink.

"Keep 'em coming."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hi! Thanks again to everyone who's responded in any way to this story so far. I've received so many great character submissions so far. The list is definitely not full yet, which is why I didn't announce all of the girls in this chapter. I'll close the SYOC this Sunday, so still a lot of time to send something in if you're at all interested! :D After I have all of the girls on Sunday, the next update will be out on  Tuesday, the 24th.

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Oliver was having a bad day.

It had started with a lecture from Grandfather Maxon at breakfast. He had made an offhand comment about how getting up for breakfast might not seem like a chore with thirty-five pretty girls waiting for him—really, they should've been glad he was finally beginning to see some kind of upside—and suddenly, Grandfather was on a tirade about how this would be the most important decision Oliver would ever make. It had been hard to enjoy his quiche after that, and it didn't get much better from there.

The early part of his afternoon had been reserved for a meeting with his mother about budget cuts. When he had finally made it through the endless pages and made a few suggestions that his mother approved of—okay, two suggestions—he had planned on rewarding himself with a nap. Unfortunately, the world had other plans.

"What is going on?" he demanded when he walked into his room to find a large three panel mirror set up in the center of the floor. There was a small pedestal sitting in front of the mirror, and he raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Anderson. "Please tell me this whole set up is for some kind of dancer. Exotic, preferably."

Anderson briefly looked like he was going to laugh, but he repressed it. "A fitting, Your Highness," he explained. "For _The Report_ tonight."

Oliver rolled his eyes and flopped onto his bed. "I already have a million suits," he countered dismissively, "I know how much my mother loves clothes, but there's no way I need another. Just pull one from the back of the closet that I haven't worn in a while."

The maids and tailor that had come to dress him exchanged nervous glances with each other, and he momentarily felt bad. He supposed he was the highlight of their day, poor souls. Still, it didn't mean that he was going to sacrifice his nap so they could play dress up. He pulled his pillow over his head, ready to reward himself for all of the crap he had put up with so far.

"Oliver, what are you doing? Get up, there are people here to dress you."

He barely managed to resist the urge to vocally express his frustration and instead moodily dragged himself out of bed. He slouched onto the pedestal, arms crossed over his chest so that his displeasure was apparent. Eadlyn fixed him with a hard stare in the mirror. "If you want an ill-fitting suit, fine," she declared, "Never mind the fact that your appearance is the only thing that the people enjoy about you most of the time."

There was a tense moment where the maids and tailor stood frozen, their eyes flitting between the Queen and her stubborn son. Finally, Oliver clenched his jaw and straightened his back, dropping his arms to his sides in defeat. The tailor snatched his tape measure and began flitting around him in a hurry as though he thought Oliver was going to slump back in protest at any moment.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mother?" he asked, sarcasm coating his words.

Eadlyn rolled her eyes. Although she had been rather hurt in the beginning, in the week that had passed since she informed her son of his Selection, she had begun to accept that she wouldn't be his favorite person for a while. She was content with the knowledge that he would thank her when he found his wife and his reign was secured, though.

"I just needed to talk to you and your brother," she explained vaguely. She looked tired, and for a moment, he almost felt guilty for leaving her to organize the Selection on her own. Then he remembered that she was making him marry a stranger, and the feeling passed.

As if he had been waiting for his cue, Tristan walked in, already dressed for _The Report_. "You wanted to see me?" he asked, looking nervous. Oliver had no clue why his younger brother would possibly be nervous. It's not like he was getting pranced out before the country like a prized horse.

Eadlyn smiled warmly at her son and straightened his tie. "I just wanted to make sure that we're all on the same page for tonight," she explained innocently.

Oliver really wanted to scream now. "It's not like we've been doing _The Report_ every Friday of our whole lives. Oh wait..." Tristan snorted his consensus.

Eadlyn ignored Oliver and pressed on. "When Coen asks you about your brother's Selection, be sure to highlight how lucky the girls are and what a great job you think he's going to do," she instructed her younger son.

"Didn't know I thought these things," joked Tristan.

Oliver grimaced as the tailor accidentally stuck him with a pin. "Yeah, really talk me up, Tris," he smirked at his brother. "Can't wait to hear this."

"I'm gonna have to or else we're not going to get any entries at all."

Eadlyn put a hand to her forehead as though she had a headache. "'Have children', they said," she remarked, "'It'll be so rewarding', they said."

Tristan kissed his mother's cheek. "We love you." Oliver couldn't move because the tailor was beginning to pin things on him, but he winked his agreement through the mirror. Tristan lingered only long enough to nab Oliver's second favorite pair of cuff links before leaving Oliver alone with his mother.

"Darling," Eadlyn began as she stepped closer to the platform he was standing on, "I wanted to tell you that I am proud of you for doing this. But I just hope you realize how serious this is, Oliver."

He sighed exasperatedly. "I know, Mom, I know. Grandfather gave me a twenty-minute briefing at breakfast in case you zoned out," he noted.

She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it, staring at it intently. "No, Oliver, it's more than finding a wife at this point," she countered, "I'm concerned that the people want Tristan."

"You mentioned that when you first told me about this thing," he reminded her bitterly. He glanced over his shoulder at the paper he was reading. "What's that?"

"It's an article," she frowned, "written recently by one of the men from my own Selection."

 _Weird_ , he thought. "About?"

She squared her shoulders. "About how he's believes that my love for you is clouding my judgement in allowing you to be my successor." He noticed her hand crumble the page. "Prove him wrong, Oliver. We need to show Illéa there's a reason you're their Crown Prince."

"What are they making this suit of, flannel?" he mumbled as the room suddenly felt a little warmer. He knew that both of his parents still kept in touch with many of the people from her Selection. He had known most of them since he was young—Hale, Ean, Henri—and they were frequent visitors to the castle. It was frustrating to hear that someone who knew his parents that well was even doubting whether he was the right person to rule.

"I'm going to make sure that we downplay Tristan tonight," she explained, "I'll have him leave his suit jacket off, talk about a lighthearted segment, and I think we'll have him spend some time with Aunt Josie and Uncle Kaden next week so that people aren't tempted to enter for a chance to meet him. But I need you to really try, Ol."

"Want me to wear a crown?" he joked.

She cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully, and this time, he did audibly groan. "I hate wearing crowns."

She kissed his cheek. "Should've thought about that when you were having "diplomatic relations" with Italian models in limos, my darling." She gave him a loving pat on the shoulder before she swept from the room.

His fitting lasted much longer than he had preferred, and despite his resolution to try to be impressive for his mother's sake, he was rushing to the studio minutes before _The Report_ was scheduled to start because he had believed that he still had enough time for a nap once the tailors and maids left. He had been wrong, of course, and to top it all off, he had picked today to decide that he hated all of his ties. He supposed his mother couldn't be too angry, as he did saunter onto set with a crown as requested despite the fact that it made him feel like a pompous peacock.

Unfortunately, Elijah was there with his father, who was employed as Celine's tutor. As soon as he took stock of Oliver's get up, he spread his arms wide and dipped into an elaborate bow. "All hail King Oliver," he declared, the amusement evident in his voice.

"My first order of business as king will be to deport you," he declared.

Elijah chortled as he took in Oliver's appearance. "Not bad, dear prince," he declared, "Maybe at least one or two decent girls will be crazy enough to enter this thing."

"Go fuck—"

" _Oliver_."

Elijah burst into laughter as Oliver turned around to face his mother. She was in complete queen mode, clad in a champagne floral jacquard gown and crowned with a gleaming tiara. It was the kind of mood that certainly did not tolerate hearing her son telling people to fuck themselves. He thought about trying to defend himself but decided against it and simply walked to take his seat between his father and brother.

"You actually look halfway presentable," Kile grinned, clapping his son on the shoulder.

"Good to see one of you still likes me," Oliver replied, shooting a tentative glance over at his mother. She was talking to the host of the report, Coen Franco, and likely threatening to end his career if he didn't make Oliver look like a shining star. Hopefully, at least. He was beginning to think he would need all the help he could get.

The trouble with having done _The Report_ so many times before was that it always ended up feeling repetitive and hopelessly boring. Had so much really happened in the week that they needed a whole half hour of updates? He really didn't think so, but he figured that was an argument for a different time. He was amused to find that his mother's idea of lighthearted for Tristan's segment was discussing an upcoming growing competition for pumpkins this October. When Tristan urged "farmers and pumpkin lovers alike" to "get out there and get growing" he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Finally, Coen turned to him. "Now, Prince Oliver, I understand you have some very exciting news to share with Illéa," he declared.

"Yes, Coen, I do," Oliver confirmed. He sat up straighter and turned his gaze to the camera, staring into it intently like he was speaking to the girls of the country directly. "There are many wonderful traditions that accompany being your prince, Illéa. However, I think I speak for many when I say that few are as treasured and important as the Selection. I see the love and strength that the Selection brought to my parents and grandparents, as well as their reigns, and I have decided that it is time for me to embark on my own journey. It is my great pleasure to announce my Selection, and I would be honored if you daughters of Illéa would join me on this incredible adventure. I am ready to find not only the love of my life, but your future queen."

The studio erupted into applause at the conclusion of his speech. _Nailed it,_ Oliver thought with a smirk.

Once the applause settled down, Coen took over again. "Such exciting news!" he championed, "We simply cannot wait to see this opportunity unfold for you, Your Highness." He turned to Oliver's parents. "Queen Eadlyn, were you surprised when Oliver discussed this with you?"

Eadlyn produced a show stopping smile, her eyes beaming with pride. "Not at all, Coen," she retorted, "I've always known how strong Oliver's love for his country is and was simply delighted when he showed me he was ready to take this very important step in a future ruler's line of duties."

Coen turned to Kile. "Your Majesty, as a former competitor in the Selection, do you have any advice for the girls that are thinking about entering?"

Always less articulate than his wife, Kile shrugged, a relaxed grin on his face. "Get ready for an experience. I'm sure Oliver will make it interesting." _Thanks, Dad._

The air time was almost over, and Coen turned to Oliver's siblings to wrap it up. "Prince Tristan, what do you think of this news?"

"Just really excited for Oliver," he answered. "We've always known how serious Oliver is about establishing a good basis for his reign, and I think this is a great step for him. Aside from being my brother, he's my best friend, and he really deserves all of the happiness that I hope the Selection brings him." Wow. He thought about thanking his brother but decided against it, figuring that his mom had probably briefed him.

Celine was the real wild card, given her age and general difficultness, but she'd obviously been briefed as well. When Coen presented the microphone to her, she giggled, "Well, it's hard to think about him having a wife since he is my goofy older brother…but I just love the idea of having a sister! And Oliver is so sweet, so I'm excited that other people are going to get to see that side of him."

Coen congratulated him once more, gave the instructions for entering the Selection, and declared that they would be back next week to announce the Selected. As soon as the cameras powered down, Oliver shed his crown and ordered a nearby butler to return it to his room. They were heavier and much more uncomfortable than one would think.

"They managed to make you seem like a completely different person," snorted Elijah as he rejoined his friend.

"I know," agreed Oliver, "Some poor girl out there is probably actually excited about dating me."

"They'll figure it out soon enough," Elijah reasoned.

Oliver snickered as he slipped off his suit coat. "What's a prince got to do to get a beer around here?" he asked, glancing around.

"Glad you asked," beamed Elijah, "because Lord Hensley's daughter is back in town on break from her university, and she said she's brought friends."

He thought about the fit that his mother would have thrown had she heard Elijah's proposal. "I've done my duty for the day, right?" he asked. Elijah assured him that he had indeed, and soon, with ever loyal Anderson's help, what could be his last cavorting with the daughters of council members was underway in his rooms.

The next week flew by. His post- _Report_ party with Elijah proved to be the last chance he had to do anything remotely entertaining in the week leading up to the Selection. He'd heard from Tristan that his mother caught wind of the unauthorized female visitors, which he suspected was one of the reasons he had suddenly been so busy.

On Saturday, he'd been forced to meet with an interior decorator about the Selected's bedrooms (hadn't been great to do with a hangover). Sunday had been an endless string of fittings for his own clothes. It hadn't been the worst, since his mom's friend Hale Garner came to take care of it, and Oliver liked hanging out with Hale. Monday and Tuesday had been reserved for endless council meetings. Wednesday was consumed by a photoshoot and interview about the Selection for a magazine that his mother had picked— " _Not_ one of those trashy gossip mongers," she had insisted—and Oliver had been exhausted from being _on_ all day. Thursday he was roped into a string of "family bonding" before they announced the girls on _The Report_ that Friday.

Before the show started, he took a minute to check out the baskets that were overflowing with entries. "This is crazy," Tristan laughed as he joined him.

"Yeah," mumbled Oliver. All of these girls were prepared to come to the palace and potentially marry him. But none of them even really knew him, a fact that he was beginning to realize bothered him. He didn't want to be a prize.

"You okay?" Tristan asked, glancing at his older brother.

In a rare moment of seriousness, Oliver responded, "All of these girls will have a reason for coming here. I just hope that reason is me."

"Aw, Ol," Tristan sighed, clapping him on the back, "Of course it's not for you, you dunce, you're awful."

He swatted his brother away but relaxed a little. As much as he fought with his brother, he was glad to have him back. He had been in Waverly with their aunt and uncle this past week opening new community centers, visiting homeless shelters, and reading to children. He had a feeling that his mother had purposely sent him to the other side of the country to make a point to the people, particularly the girls entering the Selection: _Oliver is our crown prince. Don't forget it._

He ventured towards the set, his palms slick with anticipation. "Ready?" Eadlyn asked as she straightened his crown.

"Depends," Oliver admitted, "If I say no, does that mean we get to call it off?"

She smiled, but it didn't encourage him. "I'm so proud of you, darling."

He sat in his usual seat quietly, expecting Coen to turn to him at the end of the broadcast like he had last time. He was wearing another new suit, this time gray, and once again, Eadlyn had forced a crown on his head. Sitting beside Tristan, who was looking increasingly casual with his tie loosened and his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, the comparison that Eadlyn was trying to make between her sons seemed a little obvious.

He was surprised when Coen turned to him first. "Well, Your Highness, I think everyone tonight is anxious to hear who will soon be joining us here at the palace."

"Oh," he glanced at his mother, who gave him a reassuring smile. It was strange to be the center of _The Report_ , but he figured he would have to get used to it at some point. "Yeah, let's get started," he agreed, "I hope you're all as excited as I am." _Which is not really at all._

Coen joined him as he headed back towards the baskets. They were labeled by province and placed in alphabetical order, and the obsessive organization irritated him. He decided to start in the middle and move around with no rhyme or reason. He considered opening the envelope from Hansport as soon as he grabbed it, but instead, he handed it to Coen and moved on to the next basket. All thirty-five envelopes had been chosen before he opened the first.

He opened the envelope from Hansport, and his eyes swept over it. There was a brief background on the girl and her general information, but all he paid attention to for the moment was her name and picture. She had clear pale skin, light brown hair, and eyes that reminded him of jades, green with just a hint of grey. She was smiling warmly in the picture, and the knot in his stomach relaxed slightly. "From Hansport," he declared, turning his charm all the way up and giving the women of the province a moment of anticipation, "Miss Esther Wilson." The studio clapped politely, and he showed the camera her picture.

It was a piece of cake. By the time he had gotten through the first couple of girls, he was beginning to wonder why on earth he had ever been nervous in the first place. It was replaced by a sort of excitement. Although he had been lauded as a playboy in the media, it was rare that Oliver ever got a chance to form any meaningful relationship. Now, he had thirty-five chances.

When he finished the last announcement, a Miss Adelaide Nichols from Clermont, he returned his attention to the camera. "Ladies, I can't wait to meet you," he declared, smiling widely and giving them a good view of his widely fawned over dimples.

It was time for the real fun to start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Guys. This is so long, I'm so sorry, I tried to edit it down but this was the best I could do. This update is a little early, because I started writing and realized I was going to have a 20 page chapter if I waited and put all of the girls in one chapter. So even though the Selection has technically started, there is still time to turn a girl in! If you're interesting in sending in a character, please do so by Wednesday. The next part will be up Thursday or Friday. Reviews are always appreciated as well, especially if you've got constructive criticism! (:

* * *

The night before the Selection started felt like Christmas Eve. The castle was silent, but there was a buzzing undercurrent of excitement in anticipation of the next morning. Instead of gifts though, he was getting thirty-five potential wives. He should have been thrilled. He _thought_ he would be thrilled. Elijah had pointed out several times that it sounded like Oliver's ideal situation: tons of beautiful girls, and he didn't have to do any work to get them. But the thought of the girls was currently keeping him awake.

"Get a good night's rest," his father had laughed at dinner, "After tomorrow, you won't have a moment of silence again until you're married. And even then…" At that point, Eadlyn had smacked his arm.

Kile's words certainly didn't help him to feel more relaxed. He had tried all of his usual relaxation techniques—a shower, a glass of brandy (okay, two glasses), even sending for his favorite violinist from the royal orchestra—but there he was, staring at the canopy of his bed with no sleep in sight.

Finally, he gave up and heaved himself out of bed. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well enjoy his home for one more night before the invasion. He wrapped himself in a robe and slippers before he wandered out into the dimly lit corridor.

As much as he complained about the duties of being the future ruler, Oliver really did love the palace. The third floor, belonging expressly to the royal family, was one of his favorite places to spend time. Even if he just wasting time tucked away in a window alcove, he was content when he was there. He loved the vaulted ceilings, the intricate crown molding, the plush, royal blue carpets that lined the hallways.

A light flooding into the hall roused him from his musings, and he stopped in the doorway of his mother's study. "Isn't it a little late to be working?" he asked.

Eadlyn looked up and smiled at the sight of her son. She was wearing a robe as well, and there was a cup of coffee sitting in the corner of her desk. No matter how many times they told her that it made no sense, the first thing that she did when she couldn't sleep was always to procure herself some coffee and then get to work. "I'm not really accomplishing much," she admitted as she dropped her papers to the desk.

He took a seat across from her. "You ready for another Selection?" he asked.

Eadlyn laughed. "Well, I'm sure it'll be much easier for me this time around," she countered. "The real question is, are you?"

"No," he laughed instantly. "Not in the slightest, I'm afraid."

"Good," she smiled, "I wasn't either, and look how that turned out."

Oliver sighed. "I know. I'm not you or dad though."

"You don't have to be," Eadlyn said with a soft smile, "Oliver is more than enough."

It was a sweet sentiment, but it wasn't necessarily true since they were having the whole Selection to appease a country that wasn't too fond of him. "What if I don't like any of them?" he frowned. "Do I just pick the one that I dislike the least then?"

"Of course not," she immediately responded. "If you connect with anyone, we'll call the whole thing off. I want you to be happy, Oliver. But keep a positive mind. Even my own grandfather, who was not particularly likeable I'm told, had an extremely successful Selection."

It was good to hear that she was still on his side. Eadlyn leaned forward and took his hand. "I wasn't lying when I told you this wasn't a punishment," she reminded him, "I really do think this is going to be good for your happiness, your image, and ultimately your reign."

"Do I get to do this as myself?" he asked, all of the worries that he'd been having coming to the forefront of his mind. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get to know someone when I'm having formal teas and croquette matches."

Eadlyn considered the question. "Well, there are certain traditions and expectations," she admitted, "But for the most part, I'm open to all of your suggestions. If you want, we could even create a board to help you. I would have someone oversee it, but you could appoint some help as well. Maybe it would give that reprobate Elijah something to do."

He grinned at the idea of Elijah planning dates. At least they would be entertaining. "Tristan would probably be helpful too," he mused.

His mother wrote out a note about their idea. "It's your party, but we're all here to help," she reminded him.

"Thanks," he replied, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. He glanced at the stack of files sitting on the edge of his mother's desk. She had offered them to him right after they had been collected at _The Report,_ but he had been putting them off all weekend. "I suppose I should take those," he mused, "Might help if I can remember at least a few names."

Eadlyn smiled her agreement and handed them to him. "Try to get some sleep," she added as she stood and kissed him on the cheek. The pair left the study together, and although he wasn't completely sure, Oliver thought he smelled a hint of bourbon from her mug when she walked by him towards her own room. He repressed a grin as he thought, _Guess I'm not the only nervous one._

Once he was back in his own room, he dropped onto his bed and spread out the different files. Each girl had a short bio, but he focused on their faces and names. He wasn't particularly good at remembering people, which had gotten him into hot water more than once before. He didn't want to mix their names up tomorrow—girls didn't like that, in his experience—but it was definitely going to be an uphill battle.

He supposed the girls were pretty enough. Not that Oliver had expected anything less. He had a feeling that the applicants had been vetted in some way before they made their way into the Selection baskets, probably to ensure he would actually be interested in putting some effort into it. After a life of foreign models and actresses or the daughters of Illéa's rich and powerful, he had some basic requirements, of course.

When he had consistently gotten four names correct, he triumphantly dropped the files to the side of his bed and settled down, prepared to reward himself with sleep. It was a start, after all, and he would have all day tomorrow to try to pin down another couple.

Morning came much too soon. Okay, so it was early afternoon. His mother swept into the room around 11:45 and ripped the curtains open, eliciting a groan from her son. "Why," was all Oliver demanded as he pulled his blankets over his face.

"You should be thanking me, I let you sleep through breakfast," she pointed out. "Consider it a gift. From here on out, you're expected to be there _on time_ with all of the Selected."

He groaned. "I knew it was too good to be true."

A maid hurried in with a tray of all of his favorite morning foods and set it on the table beside his bed. He groped for a croissant and pulled it into his bed. "So what's the agenda for the day?" he asked. He could tell from his mom's nervous energy that she was itching to get the day rolling.

"Glad you asked," she grinned. "The Selected have arrived. Weather permitting, we've planned a wine and sushi reception tonight in the gardens at twilight for you to meet them."

As he chewed, Oliver realized it didn't sound horrible. He wanted to demand when his mother had found time to plan this, but for the moment he accepted the fact that it wasn't a bad start. He did enjoy wine and sushi. "Sounds fine," he nodded. "So that means I'm free until, what, seven?"

Eadlyn laughed, and Oliver groaned, scolding himself for not realizing there was a catch. "No, my darling, you've got a haircut at one o'clock, a meeting with your new board for the Selection at two, a short interview with Coen for the media coverage at four, and I would like to go over your zoning proposal for the Angeles conservation and botanical gardens around six." Eadlyn took a quick glance over her cream and gold notepad and nodded, pleased with her perfect plan. One day, Oliver decided he was going to burn that notebook. It ruled his life.

"How did you even find time to compose a board for the Selection? We thought of it hours ago," grumbled Oliver.

Eadlyn smiled and plucked a strawberry from the bowl of fruit on his try. "Unlike you, my morning does not start at noon," she pointed out. "Please shower before your haircut, you won't have much time after." She decided to confiscate the whole bowl of fruit and left him alone in the room.

He sighed and pulled the tray onto his bed. How on earth did they expect him to run a Selection _and_ still be a prince? Only robots like his mom and Grandfather Maxon could do that. _That's probably why Grandfather had so many meltdowns during his,_ he thought darkly as he cut into his omelet.

The room to his door swung open once more to reveal Tristan, whose expression much too bright and excited for how early it was. "Morning!" he grinned as he dropped onto his brother's bed and reached for a slice of toast.

Oliver raised his fork menacingly. "If you want to keep that hand, I suggest rethinking your next move."

Tristan slowly withdrew his hand. "Uh, anyway, Mr. Sunshine," he remarked, "I've met the girls."

Oliver hmm-ed disinterestedly in reply and remained focused on his omelet. "They seem nice," Tristan added. Another hmm. He rolled his eyes. "You realize you're going to marry one of them, right?"

"Why do you care?" asked Oliver, "You just get to stand by and watch this train wreck."

"As Head of the Selection Council," declared Tristan proudly, "it's my job to care. Literally."

"Good God," Oliver sighed, "You've all lost your minds. Who else is on this insane committee?"

"Myself, Elijah, and Everly, who is flying in later today," he explained, referring to one of Uncle Ahren's children, "We're small but mighty. Lady Neena is our advisor."

"I'm going to try to ignore the fact that you just called yourself 'small but mighty,'" Oliver decided. He gulped his coffee in a few swallows and sighed. "I have a meeting with the whole council at two. Can't it wait till then?"

Tristan looked genuinely disappointed, which Oliver felt a little bad for. Despite what Illéa thought, his brother didn't really get many important jobs. He was probably thrilled to be in charge of the Selection council. "You can give me a quick rundown during my haircut. I promise I'm probably not going to remember any names, though."

Undeterred, Tristan prattled on without abandon. "They're really smart," he explained, "A few of them are students. Oh! And there's this one who's a PR intern with the governor in her province, so I thought that was really cool. Some are really into literature; I've already had a few questions about the library—"

"Who's the prettiest?" Oliver asked, wearied by Tristan's exaltations.

This did cause his brother to pause. "I mean… it just depends, I guess," he shrugged.

"Who do _you_ think is the prettiest?" Oliver pressed him.

Tristan blushed, which made Oliver smirk. "We have different tastes," he pointed out. "Elijah and I disagreed on the subject. And it was kind of hard to tell, since they were in the middle of getting makeovers."

"Humor me, Tris. Who did you think was the hottest?" grinned Oliver.

His younger brother rolled his eyes. "Her name is Isolde," he mumbled, "She's the PR intern."

Oliver dug through the files that Anderson had collected and neatly placed on his desk until he found her. "You would think she was the hottest," he determined with a laugh.

"She's _classically beautiful,_ Oliver."

He rolled his eyes and read through the girl's bio. She was nineteen, from Carolina, and a public relations intern with the governor, like Tristan had said. He had to give his brother some credit, as she certainly wasn't bad looking. She had wavy light blonde hair that fell just below her shoulder blades and bright blue eyes. She certainly had an amazing smile that lit up her face like she had just seen her favorite person in the world, and he imagined it would be great to have that smile directed at him. "Hmm," he remarked again noncommittally.

"Have you even read their bios?" Tristan scoffed. "Some of these girls gave up a lot to be here."

Oliver's eyebrows knit together. "I don't want to spoil your romantic view or anything, but they're the winners here. Someone gets to be a princess, and everyone else goes home compensated and usually gets a good marriage pretty quickly anyway. Grams said most of the girls Grandfather sent home were engaged before the Selection ended," he pointed out.

To his surprise, Tristan mumbled, "Yeah, I guess. Not like you can have thirty-five relationships anyway."

"Now you're talking," Oliver said. The barber removed the cape that had been shielding his clothes, and Oliver rose. "Come on, let's get to this damn meeting."

Oliver had a hard time taking his brother seriously at first, but he found that Tristan was efficient and effective. By the time they finished an hour later, they had already organized an event for Wednesday. He had thought wine and sushi was enough for the week, but Tristan pointed out that they would all be overwhelmed today.

He left feeling successful, but by the time he had met with his mom about his zoning proposal—which he had surprisingly done a good job on—he was surprised to find that he was a little nervous about meeting the girls. He supposed the anticipation had been building all day, but by the time he was standing in front of the doors to the gardens, he didn't feel like the charming heartbreaker the magazines had made him out to be.

The set-up of the gardens was nice; he would give Tristan that. There had been fairy lights strung throughout and numerous candles lit to provide soft lighting and a charming twinkle as the sun drooped lower in the sky. Comfortable looking chairs and couches had been strategically placed to allow for conversing, and soft, instrumental music was coming from some unknown source. The whole thing looked like an eclectic fairytale.

He was the last to arrive. The girls were milling about, and cameras were present, ready to capture the commencement of their next Selection. He grabbed a glass of wine and took a gulp as he was announced, and thirty-five pairs of eyes fell on him. "Hi," he smiled, uncomfortable with the intensity of their stares, "Uh, welcome to the palace. I hope no one's allergic to fish." There was a chorus of giggles that made him feel monumentally outnumbered. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you all, so let's get this thing started."

He meant for it to be a dismissal, but the girls remained focused on him, and a long, tense moment of silence followed. Finally, a blonde girl turned to those sitting around her and asked if anyone had ever had sushi. It seemed to snap the girls out of their trance, and a light buzz of conversation picked up. He noticed the girl that had come to his rescue was the one that Tristan had pointed out, and he sent her a grateful smile before he made a mental note to talk to her a little later. She seemed too confident for him to start with.

He noticed another blonde, her hair a little more strawberry, that looked less comfortable. Luckily, he remembered her name as well, as she was the last girl that he had announced on _The Report_ , Adelaide. He took another swig of his wine and approached her small group. "Lady Adelaide," he greeted her.

She froze. "Your Highness," she managed to squeak out. The glass of wine in her hand wobbled a little as well, and Oliver had to repress his laugh. He utterly terrified the girl.

"Would you like to take a walk about the gardens?" he suggested.

"Of course," Adelaide smiled. She stood, and Oliver took a moment to examine her. She was certainly beautiful. Her eyes were a deep, royal blue, and she was clad in a mint green dress that hugged her thin torso before flaring out into a fuller skirt. A pair of white heels completed the look, and Oliver was pleased that she seemed very adept at walking in the shoes. Teetering like a baby giraffe in too high heels was one of his pet peeves. He offered his arm to her, and she accepted it gingerly.

Despite his experience with women, Oliver had never been particularly good at the dating part. The getting to know people and having conversations was a little foreign to him. The last new friend he had made had been Elijah when they were nine. "So, what do you do back in Clermont, Lady Adelaide?" That seemed like a good start.

"I model, Your Highness," she responded.

A model. He could work with that. "Do you enjoy modeling?" he continued.

She paused. "It's something my mother's always encouraged me to do," she explained. It seemed careful, like she was trying not to say too much.

"Are you and your mother close?" Oliver tried.

Adelaide took a drink of her wine before she replied, "She's all I have. My father died a few years ago."

That seemed like delicate territory so Oliver muttered an apology before he changed the subject. "How are you finding the palace?" he asked.

This time, her face lit up. "It's wonderful," she sighed, "Everyone has been so friendly and welcoming. And the palace is beautiful." She seemed genuinely happy to be there, which Oliver was glad to hear. It made it easier for him if the girls actually wanted to be there.

"It is," he agreed, "It's even better lately since we've had some stunning guests." A pleased smile lit up her face, but she ducked her head shyly, as though she was nervous for Oliver to see that she had enjoyed his comment. He stopped walking and turned to face her. "You've got a beautiful smile, Lady Adelaide," he told her, "Should be a crime to try to hide it."

She laughed. "Will you ever be able to forgive me, Your Highness?" she questioned, this time beaming unabashedly at him.

"This once, I suppose I can pardon you, Lady Adelaide," he declared, "But keep an eye out for new legislature banning such an atrocity."

She smiled warmly. "Please, Your Highness, call me Addie."

"Addie," he repeated. "Good. Thanks for taking a walk with me, Addie."

"My pleasure," she responded with a perfectly executed curtsy. She returned to the group that she had been sitting with before, and Oliver noticed that she looked a little more confident as she joined their conversation.

He glanced around, trying to decide where to go next. He noticed a girl with wavy dark hair sitting alone with a plate of sushi on her lap. She was currently staring at the conjoined chopsticks in confusion. Oliver laughed to himself before he grabbed his own sushi roll and joined her. "May I?" he asked as he gestured to the seat beside her.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she blushed as she stopped fiddling with the chopsticks.

"Ever had sushi before?" he asked.

She shook her head. "We don't have much fish in Midston," she admitted.

Midston. God, what was the girl from Midston's name? He tried to scrape at the recesses of his brain but came up with nothing. He showed her how to break the chopsticks apart and position them in her hand. She laughed at herself. "I only feel mildly like an idiot now," she remarked.

"Welcome to a day in my life," Oliver snorted in response. She grinned at his self-deprecation. Finally, he had to admit defeat and acknowledge that her name was not magically coming to him. "Sorry, but your name was…"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Sorry, idiot again. I'm Patricia. Twenty, Midston, chess player." She held her hand out, and he shook it, amused.

"Thanks," he grinned. "Oliver, also twenty, Angeles, and prince."

"Oh, _you're_ the prince?" she asked, eyes widening in mock shock. "Wow, I really talked up that guy for no reason then." She gestured to a nearby waiter holding a tray of fresh wine glasses. Oliver laughed.

Patricia was great. She was a little shorter than Addie, with a deeper tan and freckles. Her green eyes were bright and teasing, like she was constantly had a joke ready. She was curvier and dressed in a simple green lace dress that she joked about accidentally dripping soy sauce on several times. Eating with her was an adventure, as she seemed to plan her best jokes for when his mouth was full, and he had to force himself not to spit his sushi out.

When he left Patricia, he grabbed another glass of wine and scanned the crowd. His attention was caught by a girl in a white dress with large, bright yellow, pink, and green flowers splattered over it. She was talking to two other girls, an approachable group size, and swaying to the music. He was amused when he saw that her shoes were yellow heels as well and started towards his next target.

"Hello ladies," he greeted them. They dropped into less than refined curtsies, and Oliver tried not to laugh. He supposed it wasn't something that normal people had grown up doing. "I apologize, but would you be able to remind me of your names?

"Brynn," the one in the bright dress answered with a smile. She had such a cheerful air about her that Oliver immediately liked. Her hair was long and blonde, and she was an average height. There was a splash of freckles on the tops of her cheeks and bridge of her nose that Oliver thought were cute.

"Molly," the other offered. She was dressed in a pale blue sundress that she had plashed a little wine on. She was taller than Brynn, even in her flat shoes. Oliver figured that heels would make her around his height, and for the sake of his masculinity, he was glad she had decided on flat sandals. Her hair was also blonde, more gold, and she had lighter eyes.

The third girl was much shorter, and Oliver figured that he was nearly a foot taller than her. She had long, dark hair, tan skin, and blue eyes. "Arabella," she responded, "But please, call me Ari." She had a sweet accent, similar to the ones that he usually heard in the southern provinces of Illéa.

"Lady Brynn, Lady Molly, and Lady Ari," he said, trying to commit them to memory.

"This is a beautiful party, Your Majesty," Brynn complimented as she smiled around at the setting.

He was glad for her approval, even though Tristan had put it together. "Thank you," he beamed. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. What have been your favorite parts of the Selection so far?"

"The palace," Molly declared, "It's just _perfect_." Oliver nodded his agreement.

"The shoes!" grinned Ari. She stuck her foot out, and Oliver saw that a dazzling silver stiletto sandal was strapped to her foot. "I'd never have anywhere to wear these back on the farm." The group laughed before Oliver turned his attention to Brynn.

"I'll let you know when I decide," Brynn shrugged mischievously, her eyes twinkling as they focused on him. Oliver had always liked mysteries.

"How are you enjoying the night so far, Your Majesty?" asked Ari, pulling his attention back to her.

"It's great," he smiled automatically. "It's been…" A little exhausting and nerve racking. "Exciting."

He talked to the girls a little longer before he left them to get another glass of wine. He also popped another sushi roll into his mouth, taking a minute to himself. The cameras had left, which took some of the pressure off, but now that the sun had set, all he could think about was how there was no way he was going to be able to talk to all of the girls. It stressed him out a little. Did he _have_ to eliminate someone this week? If so, how could he pick when he didn't know them all?

Tristan joined him. "Slow down there," he said, nodding at the wine, "What is that, your third?"

"Piss off."

His younger brother rolled his eyes but didn't press the matter. "What do you think so far?" he asked eagerly.

"I've talked to five," Oliver responded, "And I'm already ready for bed."

Tristan laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Better pick up the pace," he suggested.

And Oliver did. In the next hour, he talked to a gorgeous dance instructor from exotic Dominica named Calla, a shy writer named Eleanor, a sweet farm girl named Samantha who dreamed of being a clothing designer, fiery girl named Cameron who turned out to be Addie's step-cousin, an aspiring oboist named Cassandra, a soccer player named Madison that he was sure would destroy him if they ever played together, and a sweet veterinary student named Maisie. He had waved at many of the girls, caught their names, but he hadn't had a chance to talk to everyone yet. They seemed content to wait their turns, getting to know each other as Oliver moved around.

Unfortunately, as he moved from girl to girl, he had a habit of grabbing a new glass of wine, and by the time he finally tracked down the girl from earlier, he felt a little tipsy.

"Lady Isolde," he smiled boldly at her, "Could I have the pleasure of your company for a few moments?"

She raised an eyebrow at his greeting but stood and took the hand that he offered. "Of course, Your Highness."

As they walked towards his favorite fountain, she steadied him a little. She had a glass of wine clutched in her hand as well, but it was likely her first judging by how steady she was in her heels. "You were an excellent attention diverter earlier," he complimented.

Isolde smiled, and he found himself agreeing with Tristan about how beautiful she was. "Well, I want to work in politics," she explained, "It's my job to be good at things like that."

He laughed. "Why on earth would anyone want to work in politics?" he asked, "If I hadn't been born into politics, I would run far away from them."

She probably got the question often, for she didn't look deterred. "It's a great way to help people," she explained, "You have power, so why not use it for good?"

"Hmm," he noted, "You are interesting, Lady Isolde. Oh! This is my favorite fountain." He dropped onto the stone ledge and sighed happily.

Isolde seemed relieved that she was no longer helping to support his weight. "Beautiful enough to be a model or an actress," Oliver declared as he evaluated her body, "and yet you want to be a civil servant."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking displeased. It was the first time someone hadn't seemed charmed by him all night, and he didn't like it. "Shouldn't all of us want that in some way?" demanded Isolde, "Being a ruler is all about serving your people. You _should_ know that."

He laughed and kicked his shoes off before sticking his feet into the cool water of the fountain. "Well since you obviously think that I don't and you do, by all means, have at the crown," he chuckled.

She was saved the trouble of responding when Tristan stumbled upon them. He looked from Oliver with his feet in the fountain to the angry set of Isolde's posture and groaned. "What on earth are you doing?" he demanded of his brother.

"I am hot and tired, Tristan," Oliver declared, splashing his feet around. He kicked a little bit of the cold water at Isolde playfully, and her glare intensified as she jumped backwards. "You're much prettier when you smile," he informed her.

It was a wonder that Tristan's eyes didn't burst out of his head. "Lady Isolde, I'm so sorry for my brother," he instantly declared, "He's… he's been on medication you see, for a… a…"

Isolde sighed. "An ear infection," she offered, "That's why his balance was so off. His antibiotics and wine were a poor mixture, and he went to bed to sleep off a stomach ache." _Guess she is good at PR_ , Oliver thought drunkenly. "Here, grab one of his arms, and we can get him into the castle," she suggested as she approached the sloppy prince.

Between the combined efforts of Tristan and Isolde, the three managed to make it to Oliver's room without attracting too much attention. Anderson quickly set about settling the prince, and Isolde quickly took her leave once the doors were shut. "Mother is going to _murder_ you when she finds out about this," Tristan declared.

Oliver groaned as he dropped onto his bed and the world began to spin violently. "Good thing she's not going to find out," he slurred.

Tristan glared as he threw his brother's wet pants into his closet. "One job, Oliver. You had one job tonight, and that was to talk to all of the girls. You only got through twenty!"

Oliver yawned. "Stop jumping on my bed," he groaned.

"I'm not," glared Tristan, "That's your liver trying to process the casks of wine that you drank. God, Oliver, how hard is it to take one thing seriously?"

"Why on earth would I do that when I have you to do it for me, dear brother?" smirked Oliver before he drifted off into a deep sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Back at it again with the insanely long chapters & not getting all the girls in. Please forgive me. There will be one more chapter for this first week of the Selection, look for it around Tuesday, the 31st. I swear all the girls will be mentioned at the end of that chapter. As always, thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/etc. You are great!

* * *

For what felt like the first time in his life, luck was on Oliver's side. The story of his ear infection had circulated, and Eadlyn visited her son's room early the next morning, before he had even tried to force himself out of bed to sit through a queasy and humiliated breakfast. "I'm so sorry, darling," she had lamented, "If I knew you weren't feeling well, we could have postponed it." She had ordered him to stay in bed all day and rest and declared that Tristan would take care of all of the preparations for their event on Wednesday.

Oliver could only imagine how annoyed his brother had been when his mother had relayed that.

He had spent the day lounging in bed and trying to recover from the effects of his hangover, as well as the embarrassment. He had a vague memory of the look of absolute disdain that Isolde had given him, and he made a mental note to find some way to make it up to her at the party on Wednesday.

When Wednesday morning rolled around, he woke up feeling refreshed, like he hadn't spent the previous day in a nauseous haze. He figured he would try to redeem himself by actually being awake and put together for breakfast, although he didn't hesitate to send Anderson for some coffee while he showered.

When he walked out of his bathroom with a towel at his hips, he had not been prepared to find his cousin, Everly, lounging on the couch with his coffee instead of his butler. "La vache, Oliver!" she yelped as she covered her eyes.

 _What is with people just strolling in like they own the place lately?_ he mused as he made his way to the closet. "Sorry," he called out as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. Tristan would probably be dressed in a three-piece suit, but there was only a certain level of presentable that Oliver was capable of achieving in the morning. "Coast is clear."

He tried to go for the coffee that she had brought, but his cousin jumped from her seat and threw her arms around him. "I almost did not believe Tata Eady when she told me about your Selection," chortled Everly, "I told her it was something I _had_ to see for myself."

Everly was the youngest of Uncle Ahren and Aunt Camille's children, the same age as Tristan. She took after her mother, blonde and willowy with a face that rarely seemed to hold anything but a smile, but had her father's brown eyes. Of her older sisters, Annalise, was the heir, and the twins Helene and Nanette were a year older than Oliver. He had always been closest with Everly; Uncle Ahren said it was because they were both troublemakers.

"Did you just get in?" Oliver asked as he finally procured his coffee.

"No," Everly explained in her thick French accent, "My flight arrived early yesterday, but I spent the day helping Tristan with the gathering that you wanted to have tonight. Apparently, I am a member of the esteemed Selection Council." She looked amused by the fact that Oliver needed a whole group to help him get through the Selection.

As she sipped her own coffee, she added, "I wanted to visit you yesterday, but Tata Eady said you were sick. Poor thing. Perhaps we should stop sending you such good French wine."

Oliver grinned despite himself. "I have an _ear infection_ , thank you very much," he countered.

"Oh, indeed," she laughed. "Hurry up and finish you drink so we can get to breakfast. I cannot wait to meet them! Celine spent most of the morning in the Women's Room with them, and she's been telling me all sorts of things."

Oliver snorted as he finished his coffee. "She probably knows them better than I do at this point, then," he noted. As the pair headed to the dining hall together, he gave her the rundown of what he had managed to glean on Monday, being careful to avoid the situation with Isolde. He was a little embarrassed about it.

Despite his intention to be on time, they were still the last two to join the dining hall. His family's table had been turned so it formed a T with the table for the Selected. They had all risen for his arrival, and a few of them smiled at him as he made his way to the head table. He kissed his mother, nodded at his father, and the fell into his seat, feeling like a million eyes were focused on him.

He was shocked to see that Elijah had joined them as well, seated between Tristan and Celine. "How the hell did they manage to get you up for this?" he laughed.

Elijah shot him a glare that made it clear it was not by choice. "Apparently, it's necessary for Council members," he glared in a way that made it clear how much he regretted befriending Oliver at the moment.

He grinned. He had been about to respond when his mother cut in. "Oliver," she said in a low tone, almost a whisper, "Aren't you going to greet our guests?"

He turned to the girls, and his stomach sank as he realized he still didn't know all of their names. "Sorry for my absence yesterday, ladies," he announced, "I was feeling under the weather. Did you all enjoy getting acquainted with each other and the palace?"

Luckily, one of the girls that he did remember spoke up. It was Brynn, who was clad in another brightly colored outfit; this time, a yellow dress with thin sleeves. "It was great," she assured him with a smile. He was starting to like her smile. She glanced around at the other girls. "We sort of just hung out and got to know each other."

"We were lucky enough to get to spend time with the Princess as well," Cameron interjected, her eyes flickering to Celine. Oliver remembered Cameron, since he had talked to her towards the middle of his evening. She was pretty enough with dirty blonde hair that fell a little below her shoulders and deep brown eyes, but he remembered her fiery personality, and it was strange to see her try to ingratiate herself with his sister.

To his surprise, Celine spoke up. "Lady Presley showed me a personality test," she declared smugly, looking at one of the Selected that Oliver hadn't met yet, "It said I was outgoing and would do well in leadership positions." She looked pointedly at her older brother, like she expected him to surrender the monarchy right then and there. "I took it again guessing the responses you would pick, Oliver, and it said that you—"

"I'll take Lady Presley's test later myself," he cut her off with a glare. "Thanks, Celine."

Eadlyn looked amused. "What kind of test was this, Lady Presley?" she asked as she turned her gaze to the girl.

Lady Presley blushed deeply, obviously shocked to have been addressed by the Queen herself. Oliver took a moment to examine her. She had brown hair that faded to a more reddish color and fell to her shoulders in waves and warm, chocolatey brown eyes. Her skin was a light mocha color and lightly dusted with freckles, and she had dimples. "I'm a psychology and sociology student, Your Majesty," she explained, "The test that I showed Princess Celine evaluates your aptitude for certain professions."

"How interesting," Eadlyn smiled. "You'll have to show Oliver sometime. I would love to know what it says."

He glared at his mom. "I doubt 'future king' is one of those professions," he shot back.

"Of course not, dear, I'd just be interested in what your most likely profession would be if you weren't prince," she countered. He and Elijah locked eyes, and he could practically read his friend's thoughts. _Is womanizer and professional drunkard a profession?_

"Is there something that you'd been interested in doing if you weren't prince, Your Majesty?" one of the girls asked. His gaze jumped to her, and for a moment, he was speechless.

She was _really_ pretty. And he felt like an absolute moron, because he had no clue what her name was.

"Uh…" He turned a desperate gaze to his brother and Elijah, hoping that they would understand his telepathic SOS for the girl's name. "I guess I've never really thought about it too much."

Elijah simply turned his gaze to the brunette and raised an eyebrow in approval, a smirk playing on his face. Tristan, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to Oliver's silent plea for help and gave a confused shrug. Oliver wanted to kick himself for not putting more effort into learning their names, as well as Elijah and Oliver for not being better at reading minds. He was going to make the Selected start wearing name tags after this.

"You could certainly be a model," a beautiful tan girl with luscious black hair noted with a saucy smile. He had briefly met her the previous day, Ebony from Sonage.

Her suggestion made Oliver smirk smugly, especially in the direction of Tristan and Elijah, until he felt the intense burn of his mother's gaze beside him. The smile quickly faded, and he cleared his throat, offered a quick, "Thank you, Lady Ebony," and focused on his scrambled eggs, which were suddenly very fascinating.

Tristan barely managed to conceal his laugh as a cough, and the strangled noise that resulted caused Elijah to clap him firmly on the back. Tristan shot him an annoyed glare before he straightened his tie and announced, "Well, hopefully you'll find today's events a little more interesting than yesterday."

Kile raised an eyebrow. "What kind of trouble are you getting into today?" he asked his sons.

Tristan opened his mouth to reply, but Oliver cut him off. "It's a surprise," he decided, unsure of how his parents would respond to his plan. "Promise it's gonna be great though."

The concern was evident on his father's face, and he shook his head, looking a little exasperated. "Ladies, my thoughts are with you," Kile declared as he rose from his seat. The Selected exchanged nervous glances.

Oliver assured the ladies that their maids would help them dress appropriately for the event and left shortly after, dragging his council members with him, to their displeasure. "I wasn't finished," Elijah grumbled as he chewed on a piece of bacon that he had managed to grab on the way out.

"What's so important it couldn't wait till after breakfast?" demanded Tristan. "This is the first time that we've had crepes in three weeks, and if it's another three weeks before I get another, I swear—"

"I wanted to see how everything's coming for the party," Oliver cut him off.

Although he _thought_ that his brother would be pleased with the interest that he had decided to show in the Selection, Tristan just looked annoyed. "I took care of everything yesterday while _you_ were sleeping off your hangover," glared the blonde. "I may not get special king training, but I do know how to plan a party, thank you."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "You know how to plan a cocktail party," retorted Oliver, " _I_ know how to plan a party."

"Which is why he has Elijah and I to help," Everly beamed, linking her arm through Elijah's. She had a point. When they reached the pool, Oliver found it hard to find fault with it.

His mother had always joked that the first thing she would do when she was queen was put a pool on the castle grounds. Turns out it hadn't been a joke. Shortly after she and Kile had married, her renovation had begun. The pool was a large, oblong shape with an intricate waterfall in one corner. Tucked into the rocks that created the waterfall so subtly that it was difficult to notice was a water slide. At night, the pool could be lit up with whatever color they wanted. There was also a huge, stone fireplace, and numerous huge, plush chairs and couches to lounge on.

While it wasn't hard to make the pool look good, his council had done a great job. There had been a tiki bar area set up for snacks and drinks, a couple of hammocks were strung, and torches lined the area. Some tropical flowers had been added to the waterfall display, which he thought was a nice touch. The fire pit was also prepared for a hog roast—extravagant but necessary for any luau themed pool party—and a shaved ice station. It had a perfect relaxed island vibe that Oliver hoped would make it easy to get to know the girls.

"Not bad," he grinned. "Now I just need you guys to help me blow up some swans."

"What?" Tristan demanded, his face blank as though he really had no clue what his brother was talking about and had no mental energy left to try to figure it out.

"One step ahead of you, man," Elijah grinned. He headed over to the fireplace produced different pool inflatables: the swan that Oliver had requested, a large turtle, and an ice cream cone shaped lounger.

Tristan took one look at the tacky plastic toys and put a hand to his temples. "I've done all I can do," he declared.

"Not quite yet, brother of mine," grinned Oliver, "I need all of you guys to come to this thing."

"What?" He was surprised to see that it was Everly who had raised the question. "Why? We're just supposed to help you plan and stay out of trouble. We can't actually pick for you, Oliver," she laughed.

He had been prepared for opposition. "Hey, whoever she is, you all are going to be stuck with her, too," he declared smugly. Their smiles faded as they realized he was right. "Tell Celine, too, Tris. I want to know what dirt she got yesterday." He grinned at the three and headed back to the palace.

An hour and a half later, there was a knock on his door, and Tristan and Elijah were ushered into his room. "Are you really wearing that?" Tristan demanded when he caught sight of his brother's navy swim trunks with pink flamingos. "You look ridiculous."

Oliver grinned as he stepped into a pair of flip flops and pulled on a white linen short-sleeve button up t-shirt that he left open to expose his abs (he'd done a few dozen sit-ups while waiting for the party to start). "No, I'm wearing this." He spread his hands wide to show the completed outfit. Tristan was dressed in an understated pair of navy and white striped swim trunks, a jean button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of brown boat shoes. "Besides, like you look much better. You look like a douchey frat guy."

"You don't even know what a frat guy is," Tristan countered with a roll of his eyes.

Olive shrugged. "I read a book."

"More like watched a TV show."

"Same thing," answered Oliver.

Elijah rolled his eyes. "And here I thought Celine was Illéa's only princess," he quipped.

"A pool party?"

The three turned to find Eadlyn standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. "I don't know that a Selection has ever started with nearly all of the participants taking their clothes off," she declared sardonically.

"I have reasons," Oliver insisted. Eadlyn's gaze told him he'd better share them and they'd better be good. "Okay," he began nervously, "I want to see how the girls respond to situations that they might not be comfortable in. And without all of the makeup and stuff. You can tell a lot from what they wear and how they act today."

"Yeah," agreed Elijah, "Like girls who wear things with a million straps are _not_ practical. Do you know how long it takes to get those things off?"

Eadlyn put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. After a count of ten, she raised her head, and Oliver was surprised to see that she was smiling. "A pool party," she repeated, somewhere between amused and exasperated. "At least put a shirt on? I think we've all seen quite enough of you through your summer exploits."

"And it's not that great anyway," smirked Elijah.

Oliver narrowed his eyes and pulled his shirt closed but didn't commit to buttoning it. "If you need me, I will be in my room with a large bottle of wine," Eadlyn declared on her way out.

The three boys exchanged relieved looks. "That went well," Elijah declared brightly. "Let's get the party started."

On their way out to the pool, Oliver grabbed Tristan's arm, letting Elijah wander ahead. "Hey," he said in a low voice, "serious question."

Tristan paused, his eyebrows knit together in concern. "Sure, what's up?"

Oliver turned to a nearby mirror. "Does it look like I'm getting a six pack?" he asked as he pushed his shirt open again. "Because I think I might see two more coming in there."

There was silence, and Oliver glanced at his brother to see why he hadn't commented. Tristan was blinking in rapid succession, seemingly flabbergasted. "No, Oliver, it does not look like you're getting a six pack," he responded evenly, "Now would you hurry up and get out there?!" He turned and left his brother alone in the hall.

Oliver turned to the mirror again, a little hurt. "It does too," he muttered proudly before he headed outside.

He accepted a drink from a nearby waiter and frowned when he realized that his request for piña coladas had been interpreted as virgin piña coladas. He figured Tristan probably had some hand in that but decided not to argue as he made his way towards his family and Elijah. "Not bad, right?" he grinned. They all muttered varying degrees of approval. "Wipe that skepticism off your faces, I've got jobs for you."

"Jobs?" Everly huffed.

"Tristan, engage with the girls that are keeping to themselves. You make people feel comfortable or something like that." Before his brother could be too pleased with the compliment he added, "So I'm told." Tristan rolled his eyes and walked away.

He turned to Celine. "You get to do your favorite thing: being sneaky and in other people's business."

Celine furtively glanced around as though she were being set up. "Mom says I shouldn't do that."

"Well, Mom's not here, is she?" grinned Oliver. He was getting major cool older brother points right now.

His sister grinned and slipped a pair of sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. "I'm supposed to root out the fake ones, right?" she guessed.

"Exactly. Go forth and prosper, snitch." He glanced at Everly. "Maybe keep an eye on her?" he suggested. His cousin laughed but followed after Celine, aware of how seriously the younger girl would take her mission.

"Make sure they get pictures of everyone," he told Elijah as he glanced around at the cameras that were circulating. "I'm doing this new thing where I'm trying to learn everyone's names." He paused before he added, "And let me know if anyone's too flirty."

Elijah smirked. "Worried already?"

Although Oliver grinned in return, there was a hint of seriousness in his voice when he added, "Yes, for you." No matter how close he and Elijah were, it was still treason if he got involved with any of the Selected.

Elijah responded with a mock salute. "No fear, Your Highness." It was a subtle reminder that he knew better.

Once he was on his own, Oliver took stock of this situation. His goal for the day was to learn one thing about each of the girls. Thirty-five facts. It couldn't be that hard. If he could sit through hundreds of French verb conjugations with his tutor, he could find out thirty-five little things about the girls.

He wanted to start with the girl from breakfast, but in his excitement for the afternoon, he had forgotten to look at her file to catch her name like an absolute idiot. She was lounging at the edge of the pool with her feet dangling into it, dressed in a simple black bikini with gold embroidery lining the edges. Her long reddish brown hair had been collected in a messy yet intricate braid that flopped over her shoulder to the bottom of her ribs, and her icy blue eyes were focused on the shaved ice that she held. She was completely alone for the moment, and it was the perfect opportunity, but he refused to let her know in any way that he couldn't remember her name.

Luckily, a voice distracted him for a moment. "So is this a typical Wednesday afternoon around here?"

He turned to find Patricia lounging on an oversized beach chair with a tropical drink in hand. "Of course," he grinned, "Didn't they tell you that we have a ton of little robots in the basement of the palace that actually run the country for us?"

"I knew it," she declared triumphantly.

Oliver nodded as he settled himself on the chair next to her. "That's why they're even considering letting me be King," he explained, "The robots are fairly low maintenance."

He had enjoyed the time that he had spent with Patricia at the wine and sushi hour, but today, she was clad in a coral one-piece bathing suit that made Oliver focus to keep his attention on her face rather than her curves or her tan skin. "So, my goal for the day is to find out one cool thing about each of you," he divulged.

Patricia nodded as she sipped at her drink. "That sounds manageable," she decided, "Do names count as facts?" Oliver choked on his fake piña colada and was prepared to deny that he didn't know some of their names, but Patricia snickered, "You get this crease between your eyebrows when you're thinking really hard. It happens when you look at like seventy percent of us."

"You caught me," he admitted, "Names have never been my strong suit. But since I do know yours, _Patricia_ , you owe me a different fact."

She took a minute to think. "Okay," she finally began, "I like taking pictures."

"What kind of pictures?" Oliver asked warily as he thought of all of the unflattering photos of him that had ended up in magazines over the summer.

She seemed to think of these as well and laughed. "Not drunk, embarrassing pictures," she countered, "Pictures of people smiling. In moments that they're like, really happy. It's a good way to remember those moments."

It was something that he hadn't necessarily expected from laid-back, joking Patricia. But he liked her reasoning. "Did you bring a camera with you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It was, uh, discouraged," she explained, "Avoiding more headlines, I think."

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed," he whispered conspiratorially, "but I have a little bit of pull around this place. I'll see what I can do to get that situation taken care of." She smiled brightly, and Oliver left on a high note.

He wandered a little closer to the pool and overheard two girls, a blonde and brunette, discussing the waterfall and water slide. "I've never liked heights," the blonde admitted. "I usually avoid the waterparks in Sumner. Do you do much swimming in Labrador?"

The brunette laughed. "Not really," she countered, "I'm from the north so it's pretty cold."

Sumner and Labrador. He tried to tell themselves that he knew their names, but it was useless, so he decided to just insert himself into their conversation. "Did I hear you guys dissing my water slide?" he asked in mock shock.

"On the contrary, Your Highness," countered the brunette, "Lady Gabrielle and I were just talking about how imposing it was."

"Like any water slide should be," noted Lady Gabrielle, "Right, Lady Cassandra?" The brunette, Cassandra, nodded.

It was perfect. If only all of the girls would slyly introduce themselves like that. "No one's been up there yet," he noted, scanning the party, "Are you guys gonna be the first daredevils?"

Lady Cassandra's brown eyes bulged. "I'm not the best swimmer," she admitted.

"Understandable," Oliver relented, "Labrador's southern lakes are really the only options, from what I remember." When he had last visited the northern province. Which was when he had been six.

She seemed excited that he remembered her home province. "Exactly," she smiled.

"What about you, Lady Gabrielle?" Oliver asked. He expected her to say no, since he had overheard that she was afraid of heights.

However, Gabrielle glanced back at the slide and then back to Oliver. "Only if you come with me," she challenged.

He was surprised by her agreement but glad that she had taken the bait. "Of course," he agreed. "Lady Cassandra, would you be kind enough to watch our things?" he asked as he stripped off his shirt.

"Of course," Cassandra grinned, looking genuinely excited to see them take on the slide.

The pair made their way to the back of the waterfall construction where a stone stairway lead to the top of the waterfall. As they climbed, Oliver took a moment to examine the tiny girl. Her hair was an ashy blonde, with a few golden highlights that he wondered if she had gotten during her makeover, and at 6'1", Oliver suspected he was a full foot taller than her. Her eyes were bright, almost turquoise, and sparkled with excitement as they made their way to the top. "You ready?" Oliver asked as she pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.

"No," she admitted with a nervous chuckle.

"It'll be fine," he assured her, "No one's died recently."

"Helpful," she quipped as she settled herself at the top of the slide. He lowered himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was wearing a turquoise bikini, and their close contact made Oliver rethink his pool party decision. Had he purposely planned to make this hard for himself?

"One… two…" He could hear the other girls cheering them on from below.

"Just go!"

He obeyed, and as they rushed down the slide, he realized that she really was terrified of heights. She screamed the whole way down, and Oliver felt like kind of a dick for laughing, but it was kind of cute. She only stopped when they reached the bottom and plunged into the pool. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked with a grin.

Her sodden bun flopped on top of her head as she shook the water out of her eyes. "Something like that," she laughed, "Thanks for going with me though."

"Any time, Lady Gabrielle," he grinned. He took a moment to let the water cool him off before he set himself back on course. Thirty-two more girls to go.

Most of the girls weren't actually in the pool, rather lounging on chairs or at the tiki bar, but he noticed that one girl whose name he luckily did remember was sitting on the edge of the pool examining his blow up swan. He paddled over to her. "Pretty nice, right?" he asked proudly.

Kaitlyn laughed. She was probably around half a foot taller than Gabrielle, with shoulder length caramel colored hair, pale blue eyes, and a splash of freckles on the tops of her cheeks and nose. From what Oliver could tell from her blue and green tropical print bikini, she was in good shape, and he guessed that she was pretty active back home. "I'm sort of afraid of birds," she admitted, "Like geese, swans, ducks. That sort of thing."

It was Oliver's turn to laugh. "How does one develop a fear of swans?" he demanded.

She sighed before she explained in a rush. "When I was a little kid, my dad used to take me to feed the ducks. One day this swan showed up, and I guess _he_ wanted the bread I was giving the ducks, so he flapped his wings and hissed at me like he was about to attack, and I was just a dumb kid, so I didn't think to drop the bread, and basically, my dad had to grab me and we ran back to our car with the swan chasing us."

They stared at each other for a moment as they both digested the story, and then Oliver burst into laughter, the sort that took a minute to catch your breath from. "Okay, that's it," he decided as he grabbed hold of the ledge beside her and pulled himself from the water. "Get on the swan. We're going for a ride and curing you of your bird fear."

Kaitlyn looked skeptical. "I mean, we can try…" Oliver wrangled the swan, climbed aboard and beckoned to her. She wasn't the most graceful, and it took them a moment to both balance on the floating swan, but they managed.

"See? Not that bad, right?" teased Oliver.

She smiled back at him. "Not that bad," she agreed. "So, how's this whole thing been going for you?"

He figured that she meant the whole Selection, not just the pool party, and he liked that she asked about how he was feeling. People didn't do that often. "It's overwhelming," he admitted, "Today's been pretty nice though."

"I think everyone was a little afraid when we found out it was a pool party," she laughed, "But this has been nice. It seems very _you_."

"Maybe that's what I'd be if I weren't going to be king," he mused, "A professional pool partier."

She laughed. "I hate to be the one to shatter any dreams, but that's not a real job."

"Unacceptable," he countered, "That's going to the top of the 'When I'm King' list." She laughed again, and Oliver smiled, leaning a little closer to her. "You have a cute laugh." She blushed and seemed at a loss for a reply, so he decided to change the subject. "So, how's the fear of birds coming?"

"Better, I think," she declared, "Thanks for your help."

"So if I said there was a goose over there, you'd be fine—"

Turns out, she would not be fine. Kaitlyn jumped so badly, and in her attempt to find the goose that he had mentioned (which was a hypothetical goose anyway), she knocked them both off the inflatable swan. "I'm sorry!" she immediately insisted when they surfaced.

"Looks like we'll have to spend a little time on the fear of birds," he laughed. "Come on, let's go get some towels."

Once they were dry and Kaitlyn had apologized twice more, he ordered her to get some shaved ice to calm down and headed to a group of girls that were lounging near the fire place. He didn't remember all of their names, but his great conversations so far had emboldened him.

It was a mistake, he realized as he approached them. They were all objectively gorgeous, but one of them caught sight of him before he could run away. "Prince Oliver," purred Ebony, the one whose name he knew, "You must come settle a dispute for us."

Great, that made it worse. "Trouble already?" he asked as he approached. There was no safe place to look, he soon realized. Ebony was wearing a blue string bikini, the girl with dark brown hair that faded into a lighter gold beside her was in a lacy black bathing suit, and the third was in a cream crocheted creation that left little to the imagination.

The girl in the cream bathing suit spoke up. She was tall, with beautiful bone structure and dark blonde hair and brown eyes. Oliver was pretty sure that she was a model, and he'd seen her in a magazine or something like that. "Calla," she gestured to the girl in black lace, "insists that Dominica has the best beaches, but Ebony says Sonage's are better."

"What do you think?" he asked the girl in cream.

Ebony rolled her eyes. "Irina is from Ottaro," she countered, "She wouldn't know a white sand beach from a public pool."

"I've done a lot of traveling," Irina countered coolly, "I think the south of France has better beaches than either."

She had a point, but he didn't want to agree with her and get on Ebony and Calla's bad sides. Pretty girls were scary when they were mad. "Angeles has nice beaches," he offered.

Calla's face softened, and he had a feeling that she was the nicest of the three. "I'd love to visit them sometime," she smiled.

"How diplomatic of you, Your Majesty," Ebony smirked with a flirty eye roll.

He laughed and was about to respond when he noticed Tristan was talking to Isolde at the tiki bar. It was the perfect opportunity to apologize to her with backup so he didn't feel like too big of an idiot. "Ladies, if you'll excuse me," he said before he made his way to the pair.

"Hey," Tristan greeted him. He looked like he was in a great mood. "How's it going?"

"Pretty well," admitted Oliver, "Lady Isolde, I wanted to apologize to you, actually."

She was really striking, and he wished that he had owed an apology to one of the girls that seemed less confident. She was wearing an orange one piece under a white shirt dress, and even without shoes, she was tall. She looked fine next to Tristan's 6'4" frame, but Oliver suspected that she would barely an inch shorter than him in heels. "I really kind of messed up on Wednesday," he admitted, "This whole thing has been a little overwhelming."

She turned to Tristan and asked, "Could you excuse us for a moment, Your Majesty?"

Tristan's smile faltered for a moment, but he nodded. "Of course. It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Lady Isolde." Then, he wandered over to Celine, who was entertaining a large coalition of girls. They were the youngest girls in the competition, only two years older than his sister, who looked pleased to have company.

"I appreciate and accept your apology," Isolde announced. The tension in Oliver's shoulders loosened, and his face had almost relaxed into a smile when she added, "But as it is, I'd like to request permission to leave the palace."

All of the progress that he had made that day seemed to fly out the window. "What?" he demanded.

She seemed unfazed by his outrage. "I've given it a lot of thought, and I just don't think that you and I are compatible," she explained. "Of course, I think it's fun, but a pool party after the disaster that Wednesday was? I don't know. I just think we're really different people."

It was the first time he had ever experienced any kind of rejection, and Oliver did not like it. "Look," he huffed, "I didn't really want to do this thing. I know that sometimes I fuck up, but I'm trying to do this for Illéa, and I think you want what's best for the country too. I think that's why you're in politics."

She studied him for a minute before she nodded. "So give me two weeks," he requested, "If you still think I suck and there's no way we'd work after that, you can leave."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I don't think you _suck_ ," she disputed, "but that sounds reasonable."

He grinned, feeling like he'd accomplished something. And maybe he had. If he could handle someone as imposing as Isolde, dealing with foreign leaders as king had to be a piece of cake. He kissed her hand, and she left to speak to some of the other girls. Tristan came back a moment later.

"How'd that go?" he asked.

Oliver grimaced. "I'll tell you about it later," he offered. "Hey, by the way, what's that girl's name?" He pointed in the direction of the mystery girl that had captured his attention nearly day.

"Lady Margaery Seymour." He clapped his brother's shoulder in thanks and made a beeline for the girl.

"Lady Margaery," he greeted her brightly.

She looked surprised at his sudden appearance but she smiled. "Your Majesty."

"Do you want to go on a date tomorrow?" Oliver blurted before he could help himself.

Her icy blue eyes lit up, and she blushed as a few girls that had overheard turned to stare at them. "I'd like that," she agreed.

Oliver exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "Cool," he grinned, "So, uh, want to go get some of that roasted pig?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thank you guys so much for the continued support! I always welcome and enjoy your feedback. The SYOC was  closed as of the last chapter, and you can expect the next update on Saturday, the 4th.

* * *

Oliver quickly realized that asking Margaery on a date in the middle of the pool party was a pretty bad idea.

It didn't make him regret it at all—after they'd eaten roasted pig together he was even more excited about their date—but he did notice that several of the girls looked like they had taken his invitation to Margaery as a personal affront. He'd tried to engage in a conversation with Presley, Maisie, Eden, and Dalila about their college studies (psychology, veterinary medicine, education, and culinary school, respectively) but had noticed that they seemed a little guarded and disengaged.

As he decided to take a break, he caught sight of more than a few wounded glares, and Elijah confirmed his fear that they were upset with him when he fell onto a plush lounge chair beside Oliver. "So you've effectively killed nearly everyone's self-confidence," he declared as he pulled a flask from the pocket of his swim shorts and poured a healthy dose into his previously virgin daiquiri.

Oliver grimaced. "I was afraid of that," he frowned. "You don't think they're going to be mean to her now, do you? Girls can be…" He trailed off, unsure of how to describe it. To be honest, he didn't understand girls about ninety percent of the time where the emotional aspects were concerned.

Elijah shrugged and gestured to where Margaery was talking with Isolde and Everly. "She'll be fine," he replied dismissively, "What's your plan for the rest of the night? You only have like a million girls left to talk to."

"It feels like that," Oliver sighed as he reached for his friend's flask.

Before he could dump the contents into his alcohol-less sugar-bomb of a drink, a hand swooped in from above him and plucked the flask out of his grasp. "So far, so good, but I'm not taking any chances," Tristan explained as he tucked the flask into the pocket of his shirt. "Isolde and I can only sell so many dumb excuses for you."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Got anything interesting to share, or did you just come to ruin my good time?"

"Just reminding you to keep on schedule," Tristan explained, "You talked to Lady Margaery for like a half hour."

Oliver frowned. It hadn't seemed like that long when he had been with her. Maybe that was why the girls were sending him questionable looks. "How am I supposed to talk to them when they're looking at me like I'm public enemy number one?" he mumbled as he settled for sticking his straw into Elijah's drink.

"Why don't you talk to the younger girls?" Tristan suggested. "Celine's been holding court with them for a while now, and you need to figure out if there's a point in keeping them around or not."

"Sixteen is pretty young," Elijah whistled.

"It's within the age limits," Tristan dismissed, "I'm sure some of them are mature for their age."

Oliver groaned and pulled himself to his feet. "Fine," he mumbled.

The younger girls that Tristan had suggested he talk to were sitting in the lounging in the shallow part of the pool with his sister. His biggest fear was that their personalities would remind him too much of his sister, who was fourteen. If that was the case, they be leaving ASAP. "Hey Celine," he greeted her as he approached, "Ladies."

He tried to ignore a chorus of unnecessary giggling as he sat down on the edge of the pool beside his sister. "Can you go talk to Everly or something?" he asked Celine. There was no way he'd be able to have a productive conversation with his sister looking over his shoulder. Celine rolled her eyes in typical teenager fashion, but she didn't argue and took her leave.

He decided to get the uncomfortable part out of the way first. "Could you all remind me of your names?" he asked. It was getting less awkward the more he did it. They were sitting in a semi-circle around him and complied: Samantha, Xylicia, Evelyn, Melody, and Molly, who he remembered from the wine party.

"Xylicia," he repeated, "That's a different one."

The girl—who was tiny, even smaller than Celine—smiled. "So I've heard," she admitted, "You can call me Xylie, if it's easier. Pretty much everyone does."

"Xylie," he nodded, "I like that." The other girls looked disappointed that they didn't have nicknames for the prince to like. Xylie didn't seemed troubled by the sudden attention. "So, uh, how are you guys enjoying the palace so far?"

"It's wonderful!" exclaimed the girl immediately to his right, Samantha. "The maids are so helpful and talented. Our wardrobes are incredible."

"Are you interested in fashion?" he asked.

The brunette nodded enthusiastically. "I work in a dress shop back home, but I'd love to get into design one day," she explained.

"My sister is a designer," Xylie added. "She's incredibly talented and even younger than us."

"What do you think of the Selection?" one of the girls, Melody, asked. Oliver noticed that she had interesting hair: it was black, and the left side was shaved while the right reached the top of her ear. She had thick glasses, dark skin, and her thicker frame was clad in a long maxi dress over her bathing suit. From behind her glasses, a hard stare was turned on Oliver.

"Uh…" He didn't know how to answer the question. He guessed he should be excited, but since it hadn't been his idea, he currently was somewhere between overwhelmed and exhausted. "It's been good so far. It's a great way to meet a lot of girls that I wouldn't have otherwise."

She didn't look satisfied with his answer, which amused Oliver. "You don't think it's antiquated?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Maybe, but it worked for my parents and grandparents, so why not give it a shot?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It promotes the objectification of women," she noted, "And competing for a man is archaic."

"Now who's objectifying?" smirked Oliver. She reminded him of the liberal feminist groups that frequently lobbied his mother for increased women's rights. He understood the need for gender equality but hated having anything shoved in his face, regardless of how worthy the cause.

She seemed genuinely confused. "Sorry?"

"Well, you say the Selection promotes objectifying women," he noted, "but you just equated me to a prize, not a person."

The other girls looked tense, while Melody's face turned thoughtful. "I guess I hadn't thought about it like that," she admitted. "You have a point though. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he countered casually, pleased that he had been able to refute her so successfully. _Point for Oliver_.

"Is it hard to deal with the Selection as well as your state duties?" a blonde girl who had introduced herself as Evelyn asked, seeming extremely interested.

"Uh…" He had thought that they would talk about more basic things, since all of the girls were so young. But so far, the group had hit him with some hard questions. "Well, if you guys ever feel like you're spending excessive amounts of time in the Women's Room, you know why," he quipped. Xylie laughed along with him, which he appreciated.

"Well, so far, this has been great," Molly grinned, "A pool party was such a fun idea." She seemed to have enjoyed the sun a little too much, her shoulders and chest a little red.

"Glad you guys are having a good time," he smiled, "Has Celine been telling you all sorts of embarrassing things about me?"

"Oh, she's wonderful," Xylie gushed, "I have a sister around her age, and Celine's just so fun and sweet."

He snorted. "Where'd you find that Celine? The one that I know is mostly just a royal pain in the ass." The girls all laughed. He chatted with the girls for a few minutes more before he caught sight of one of the girls mixing up a drink herself at the tiki bar. He thanked the girls for their time and headed towards the bar.

"What are you doing?" he asked, thoroughly interested as he watched her drop flavors into a mixer.

She glanced up momentarily, but his appearance didn't seem to faze her otherwise. "Making a drink," she explained, "Want one?"

He glanced around. "Got anything to spice it up?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head, her wavy dark brown hair flopping over her shoulders. "Sorry," she countered, "I can only work with what I've been provided."

He sighed but took a seat. "Mocktails it is," he relented. "Are you any good?"

She crushed some mint leaves in the mixer. "I should be," she laughed, "I do it five days a week."

"You're a bartender?" he asked, enthused. It was probably the best occupation he had heard from any of the Selected yet.

She nodded and produced two cups. "At a luxury hotel on the ocean front back in Paloma," she explained, "Rich people are particular about their drinks, so I better be good if I want to get tipped."

"What is this?" he asked as she handed him a drink.

"A blueberry mojito," she declared, "or it would be. I had to sub the rum for Sprite."

"I'll keep that in mind," he noted as he raised his glass. "Cheers." She knocked her glass against his before they both took a drink. She hadn't boasted about her skills at all. Even without the rum, the drink was good. He took a minute to observe her while she tasted it. She was a little shorter than average, though not by much, and somewhat curvier, though her muscles were evident. She had olive skin, freckles, and small brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

"You were right," he admitted, "That's amazing. I should have you teach our chefs a thing or two."

"Thanks." She glanced down at her drink, obviously a little uncomfortable, before she cleared her throat and held her hand out. "I'm Reyna, by the way," she added, "It's probably hard to remember everyone's name."

Her handshake amused him, but he took her hand anyway. "So, how'd you get into bartending, Lady Reyna?"

She wrinkled her nose at the 'lady', but responded, "Just to pay the bills."

He took another sip of his drink. His quip about her showing the chefs a thing or two hadn't been a joke at all. "What would the dream job be?"

"I'd like to be a fitness instructor," she answered.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's awesome," he laughed. "What's your specialty?"

"Boxing," she responded. "It's a great workout."

He wasn't surprised, given the definition in her arms. "You'll have to show me one day," he decided, "I'm really trying to get a six pack, but these last two abs…"

She laughed, although Oliver felt like it was a little more at him than with him. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Well, thank you for the drink," he added, "I'll be in contact about our workout." She raised her drink in farewell.

Instead of making an effort to engage with a new group of girls and whittle down his list, Oliver decided to take a minute to himself and grabbed a second plate of food before he retreated to one of the more secluded seats. He took a minute to look around. The girls were strewn about in small groups. Some talked with each other, some splashed around in the pool, but some of them were also focused on relaxation, laid out on the comfortable seating options.

They were beautiful, they were funny, they were accomplished. But he was also a little worried about whether he'd be able to fall in love with one of them. Although he had felt small sparks with different girls, he had always hoped that when he met the girl he would marry, he'd know. They'd lock eyes, and he'd have this _feeling_ and just know that she was it, the person who would make him better and enable him to be the king everyone wanted.

He hadn't felt that, and it worried him.

He took a minute to finish the drink that Reyna had made him and enjoy the food in silence, appreciating the moment of calm. He'd heard that the Selection could hypothetically go on for years, but he couldn't imagine it consuming his life for an extended time. As much as he loved parties, the day hadn't been a walk in the park.

"Hi." He glanced up and saw a girl with loosely curled chocolate hair standing above him. "Is this seat taken?" she asked with a gesture to the chair beside Oliver. She was the first girl that had made an effort to approach him, and he was glad that she had. It was exhausting to be the one making the effort constantly.

"Oh, no, go ahead." He knew her name. She was one of the ones that he had memorized that first night. "Lady Maelys, right?"

"You can call me Mae," she offered as she settled herself on the chair beside him. Her tall, lithe body was clad in a white one-piece bathing suit that dipped low in the front and back and complimented her olive skin perfectly. She had great assets, and Oliver wanted to drown himself when she caught him steal a glance at her chest. "Enjoying the party?" she asked, her tone suggesting that his wandering eye wasn't unwelcome.

"Uh, yeah," he responded, "It's been fun. I'm trying to learn at least one thing about each of the Selected today."

"Anything interesting so far?" she asked.

"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "What have you got for me, Lady Mae?"

"Hmm…" She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her chair as though she was in deep thought. "Je parle français," she finally responded.

"Génial," he responded, "Everly will love that."

"What about you, Your Majesty?" she asked, a teasing gleam in her eye. "I'd love to get to know you better."

She was the first girl to ask really ask him about himself, and Oliver felt a little insecure. He gave it a moment of thought, and when nothing immediately came to mind to share, he felt a little uncomfortable. "Uh, I'll get back to you," he decided. He stood, abandoning his food. "Excuse me, Lady Mae." Her eyes were concerned as she followed his departure, although he was curious as to whether it was concern for him or her place in the Selection.

Although his conversation with Mae had rattled him, his goal was to learn thirty-five facts, so he threw himself back into his mission with gusto. He played a game of volleyball with two of the sportier girls, Madison, a soccer player, and Laine, a dancer. He spent some time talking with the quieter girls, like Rosalie and Eleanor, who seemed to be fast friends. He learned a lot about their backgrounds, such as the farms that Ari and Esther came from, and that Cameron's mom had a talk show that his Grandma American called her guilty pleasure.

By the time he was making his way back to his room, Oliver was exhausted. His brain was so full with names and facts and trying to process all of the feelings that he had felt throughout the day. He dropped face first onto his bed, and Anderson chuckled, "Would you like to have dinner in your room tonight, sir?"

"You read my mind," he mumbled into his blankets. Anderson left to collect his food, and Oliver was prepared to doze off into a well-earned nap when he heard a chorus of voices outside his door. "No," he moaned.

The doors burst open, and Elijah, Everly, and Tristan filed in. "What a day!" Everly declared in her thick accent.

"It only took two hours, but I can finally understand the French girl," Elijah smirked. Everly rolled her eyes.

"What are you guys doing here?" demanded Oliver.

"Did you forget that we have a date to plan?" Tristan countered. "And we should also talk about this week's elimination."

"Elimination?" Oliver asked, thoroughly confused. "I wasn't aware that I had one planned."

Tristan looked exasperated. "You _should_. It makes you look indecisive and like you're not taking the process seriously if you keep all thirty-five past the first week," he pointed out. "Grandfather and Mom both had first day eliminations, but your 'ear infection' gave you a momentary reprieve."

He realized he was probably going to hate his brother by the end of the Selection and momentarily wished he hadn't suggested he be involved to his mom. "Fine," he huffed. "What should I do with Margaery tomorrow?"

There was silence, and Oliver raised his head, hazel eyes narrowed. "Isn't this your guys' job?" he demanded.

Tristan looked uncomfortable. "Well, look, it's not like we have a lot of dating experience amongst us," he pointed out. "Everly's the only one who's had an actual boyfriend."

"And he was that horrible German prince," shuddered his cousin.

"Great," Oliver sighed as he dropped his head back onto his pillow. "You guys should've told me you were useless before I asked one of the girls I think I might actually like on a date."

"You like one?" Tristan asked, the excitement evident in his voice.

Oliver rolled his eyes and reached for his cell phone. "I've got an idea for this one, but you guys need to step up your game. What am I even paying you for?"

Elijah blinked. "You _aren't_ paying us."

"That's beside the point," Oliver countered as he started searching for a phone number. "I've got things to do, I'll talk to you guys tomorrow." His brother ordered him to think about an elimination one more time and then he was finally left in peace.

He spent the better part of his night planning his date with Margaery until he remembered a funding request that the governor of Labrador had sent in that his mother had left to his discretion. The result was too little sleep, and by the time morning rolled around, he was tired, grumpy, and barely made it through breakfast without snapping at someone.

He had sent Margaery a note the night before requesting she meet him at one in the entrance hall of the palace, and unlike Oliver usually was, she was perfectly on time and arrived dressed in a watercolor floral print dress in varying shades of blue, pinks, and white with spaghetti straps that fell to her knees in the front and a little longer in the back. She had paired it with nude heeled sandals, simple makeup, and her long hair was pulled back from her face, flowing down her back in refined waves. "You're gorgeous," he grinned, her presence alleviating his grumpiness.

"Thanks," she smiled. "So, what are we up to today?"

"We are taking a little adventure into Angeles," he explained. He gestured towards the doors.

She looked surprised. "Are we allowed to?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," shrugged Oliver as he led her out to their waiting car. "My grandfather and Mom didn't get to much because of unrest, but things have chilled out. I just take some security, and people don't even bother me." He bitterly thought of how people tended to crowd Tristan on the rare occasion that his brother ventured into public.

Her excitement seemed to grow as they drove through the city. "Angeles is beautiful," she complimented.

"It's not too much different from Fennley," he noted, "Maybe a little greener." She nodded. "So, what do you do back home?"

"Mostly philanthropy," she explained, "My dad's company tries to take on a few projects a year, and I tend to get involved with those."

He remembered that Tristan had mentioned that her father was in charge of a large company, and suddenly, her last name clicked. "Seymour Enterprises," Oliver mused, "Your dad's in weapons development."

She nodded, looking a little insecure. "Not really the first thing I like to tell people," she admitted.

He could see why. They were a necessary evil. "Well, as the future commander of Illéa's armed forces, I appreciate him," he chuckled.

She looked a little relieved. "Thanks," she smiled. "So, where are we off to?"

"We're kind of multitasking," he admitted. "I'm in charge of approving Angeles' new animal conservation center and botanical gardens, so I have to check them out, and you get to be our first guest."

Luckily, she looked excited. "Really?" she asked eagerly.

"Don't thank me yet," he countered dryly as the car slowed at the new establishment, "If the lion enclosure isn't up to regulation, we'll probably be eaten." He took her hand, politely acknowledged the cameras that met them with a wave, and steered her towards the outdoor conservation center.

"Your Highness," greeted the program director, Dr. Phineas greeted him. He was a young man only a few years older than Oliver who had impressed the prince with his vision for the conservation center when he had pitched the idea two years ago.

"Phin," Oliver greeted him, offering his free hand to the zoologist. "This is Lady Margaery," he added.

Phineas looked excited, although Oliver had a feeling it had more to do with showing off the park than the cameras or the prince and his date's presences. "So, are we gonna get the grand tour or not?" he asked.

It was all the prompting Phineas needed, and soon he was ushering Oliver and Margaery around the enormous grounds. Part of the park's allure, in Oliver's opinion, was that the botanical gardens had been incorporated into the layout, and the paths from each animal habitat was lined with plants, trees, bridges and streams, archways, and flowers galore. Margaery seemed to like it, as she wandered away from Oliver for a closer look often.

"What's your favorite animal, Margaery?" Oliver asked as they trailed behind Phineas.

She took a minute to think before she declared, "Snow leopards."

"Hey, Phin," Oliver called, "Help me out here, I'm trying to make a good first impression." Margaery laughed. "Got any snow leopards?"

Phineas' excitement was obvious, and he practically took off at a run. He led them to an outdoor enclosure that had a simulated mountainous terrain—snow leopards liked to climb, he explained to them—and pulled a stack of keys from his pocket. Oliver didn't want to appear nervous, but he had thought that Phineas was going to show them the leopards from the outside. There as a small atrium before the door to their habitat, and Oliver's unease grew as Phineas handed them two bottles.

Margaery didn't look concerned, and he wasn't about to question it if she didn't look bothered, but Oliver was already imagining how irritated his mother would be if he got mauled by a snow leopard. The people barely wanted him with his dashing good looks. They'd probably riot if he lost his last redeeming quality.

"Stay here," Phineas ordered before he dashed off. He returned a moment later, his arms full of grey dotted fluff.

They were baby snow leopards, which made Oliver incredibly glad that he hadn't voiced his concern. Margaery excitedly rushed forward and pet one of the small cubs. "Here, come sit down and you guys can feed them," Phineas offered.

They all took a seat on a patch of grass, and Phineas passed a cub to Margaery and Oliver each. The first thing Oliver's cub did was snag his button up shirt, but Margaery looked unconcerned with her own silk dress. "They're so precious," she cooed as she offered her cub it's bottle. Phineas explained how their numbers were decreasing in the wild and that the pair, along with a few other cats, would be part of a breeding program.

"Like their own Selection," mused Oliver.

"Yes," nodded Phineas, "Except their matches are picked based on genetic compatibility and the odds of viable offspring instead of the prince leopard's emotional attachments."

Margaery and Oliver both chuckled. "Sounds so easy," he snorted as he absentmindedly scratched behind the leopard cub's ears. "Figure out mine and Margaery's genetic compatibility when you're done with the cubs, Phin."

Phineas pushed his dark framed glasses up his nose, a concerned look on his face. "I could, Your Highness, but it would require a standard blood panel from both of you, as well as a chromosome map so that I could—"

"Joke, Phin," Oliver countered with a laugh. Margaery smiled absentmindedly as she continued to pet the leopards.

"Do they have names?" she asked.

Phineas straightened proudly. "That one," he gestured to the cub that Margaery was holding, "Has been named Schreave in honor of Her Majesty, the Queen."

"What about this guy?" Oliver asked as he picked up his cub.

"Haven't quite gotten there yet," Phineas admitted. "Any ideas, Your Highness?"

He considered the cub for a long minute. He was really terrible at naming things, as evidenced by his horse in the royal stables, whose name was Blackie (two guesses what color he was). Luckily, he had a rare strike of brilliance and declared, "Seymour."

Margaery tore her gaze away from her cub for the first time since they had entered the enclosure, and a wide smile lit up her face as she turned to him. "Really?" she asked, as though she expected him to burst into laughter and write it off as a joke.

"Yeah," he nodded, "So whenever I come visit the snow leopards, everyone will know who I'm thinking about."

Their eyes met, and Phineas busied himself with fiddling the lid on Schreave's bottle for a long minute to give the two some privacy. Although Oliver figured it would be a good moment to kiss her, he held back. He had a feeling that Margaery was holding back a little, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. The cameras were lingering around still, so he called one of the photographers over. "Can you get a picture of Lady Margaery and I with Schreave and Seymour?" he suggested. "Phin, get in it, too. You can put it in the conservation's newsletter and draw in some big donors."

After the photo op—Oliver made the photographer promise to send a copy to the palace—he and Margaery handed the cubs over to Phineas and took a moment to check out the rest of the park alone. There was a traditional New Asian tea garden at one end with an outdoor pavilion overlooking a pond that they paused at for a while.

"So, what do you think?" he asked. The conservation center and botanical gardens were one of the first things that he had heavily gotten involved with, and he was anxious to see what people thought of it. "It won't be open to the public until December, so there's still time to change things if necessary.

Margaery shook her head. "It's perfect," she insisted. "Really, Oliver, it's incredible that you and Phineas have done this."

Her praise made him blush a little, although he turned away from her so she didn't notice. "We had… construction workers and architects too," he mumbled weakly, not wanting to take too much credit.

"If you use even half as much care and attention in your rule, Illéa is a lot luckier than they know," she continued.

He grinned and took a seat on one of the couches in the pavilion. She joined him a moment later, and she sat a lot closer to him than she had in the car, which Oliver didn't mind. Testing the waters, he draped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his side a little, which he enjoyed. "Tell me about Margaery," he requested, "Something I can't find in your file."

"Have you even read them?" she asked with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes. "Tristan practically has them memorized so there's not much point," he said dismissively.

"Alright," she agreed after a moment, "But you have to tell me something about Oliver, too." He heaved a sigh and pretended to be put out before he nodded. She thought for a moment before she divulged, "My older brother, Xander, is my best friend in the world. My family can be… preoccupied most of the time, but Xander's always been there for me."

"Protective older brother," groaned Oliver playfully, "You couldn't make it easy for me, could you?"

She laughed but nudged his side. "Your turn," she reminded him. She reached for his hand, and although it was his first date, Oliver felt so comfortable that he would've told her anything.

"What do you want to know?" Oliver laughed. "I'm sure the news has told you plenty."

She considered the question. "Any ex-girlfriends I should be worried about?" she asked. "Aside from the thirty-four other girls here."

He laughed, both at how ridiculous dating thirty-five people sounded and the fact that she actually thought he'd had real relationships. "Nope," he countered. "Having a real relationship isn't something I'd list under strengths on a resume or anything."

"Well, so far, I think you're doing wonderfully," she noted.

She was so close, and he really wanted to kiss her. _Just do it, you big pansy,_ he chided himself as he stared down at her. He shifted slightly, and the hand that wasn't wrapped around her shoulders lightly tilted her chin upwards. As much as he wasn't experienced in relationships, the physical aspects were where Oliver was confident in his skill. Margaery's blue eyes fluttered shut, and Oliver noticed with a smirk that her breathing had slowed like she was trying to keep herself calm.

His lips had barely brushed hers when there was the loud sound of someone clearing their voice, and the pair jumped apart. It was Oliver's personal bodyguard, Jon, and Oliver glared at him. He had been party to more than one of Oliver's escapades and knew when to not interrupt. "Jonathan," he ground out.

"Sorry, Your Highness," shrugged Jon, "It's time to return to the castle." He turned around to give the pair a moment but made no attempt to leave them alone completely, as their departure clearly was not negotiable.

"Crux of being a prince," Oliver mumbled as he stood and offered a hand to Margaery.

"Limited privacy?" she guessed.

He nodded. "Hope that's not a deal breaker," he joked as they trailed behind Jon back towards the car.

She shrugged, as though she wasn't bothered at all. "I adapt easily," she assured him with a wink.

Oliver grinned and laced his fingers with hers, pulling her a little closer to his side and making Margaery smile. The elimination still weighed heavily on his mind, but he was sure that whoever he said goodbye to tomorrow before _The Report,_ Margaery would not be one of them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Dates galore coming up! This part incorporated less girls than usual, but have no fear, there will be two more parts to encompass all the dates for this week. Thanks again to everyone who takes the time to read and review. I appreciate the support so much.

* * *

Oliver had made girls angry before.

Once, he had been dancing with a princess from Swendway at a state dinner, and he'd stepped on her dress. The custom creation had torn at the seam, and she'd been so upset that she'd started crying. Another time, he'd had a fling with one of Everly's friends in France. He hadn't called her at all when he returned to Illéa when the summer was over, and the next time he had run into her while visiting his French family, he'd gotten a drink thrown in his face.

But it didn't seem possible that any girls had ever looked at him with as much ire in their eyes as the girls that he had just eliminated.

It wasn't a decision that he had come to lightly. The idea of an elimination scared Oliver, because he hadn't had _that_ much time to get to know the girls, and what if he was missing something magical? But he had poured over their files after his date with Margaery, and he felt fairly confident in his decision.

A sweet girl named Jenna, who was a museum tour guide back in Atlin but just lacked any kind of connection with Oliver, didn't seem surprised. The few times that they'd spoken, there had been awkward pauses and a lot of talking over each other as they tried to fill the empty space. She had thanked Oliver for the opportunity and left his study quickly. Ana Maria, a backup singer from Honduragua, seemed understandably disappointed, but wished him luck before she took her leave.

Julia, a pink haired hairstylist, was a little more displeased. She had demanded an explanation for his decision, which Oliver found frustrating since he didn't really have an explanation. In the end, his frustration caused him to declare that she was looking for someone capable of being a queen, and Julia had fixed him with a hard glare before she left. She had been supported by Naomi and Blake, who seemed personally offended that they hadn't made the cut and insisted that there were other girls that deserved to go home.

All in all, once he escaped the heat of their gazes, Oliver was pleased with his decision. He had narrowed the playing field to thirty. It was progress, which he hoped Coen would highlight on _The Report_ that night.

When he walked on set later, _The Report_ looked different than ever before. The girls were seated in three rows of ten off to the side of the stage, and for the most part, they appeared to be somewhere between nervous and excited about the show. They were all dressed to impress in long gowns, and their formality added to Oliver's amusement when he saw that his mom's operation to make Tristan seem less appealing had continued. This week, his brother was wearing a collared polo shirt with his dress pants.

"What do they have you talking about this week?" Oliver asked as he dropped into his seat beside his brother.

Tristan clenched his jaw, and his fist tightened around the cue cards that he'd been reading over. "Being a responsible pet owner."

Oliver beamed. "I can't wait for this."

He didn't have to wait long. His mother's portion of the show was much smaller than usual, and soon, Tristan was wrapping up his segment with an enthusiastic, "And don't forget to spay and neuter your pets!" that had Oliver almost in tears from trying to repress his laughter.

His amusement quickly faded when Coen turned to him and jumped right in to the Selection talk. "So, first week is in the books," he declared, "What do you think so far, Your Majesty?"

Oliver felt the weight of the girl's eyes as they all turned their attention to him. He figured talking about how he had gotten too drunk the first night or how Isolde had already asked to leave wouldn't go over well, so he forced a smile and offered, "It's been great. I've got some incredible girls here."

"Any that you think would make a perfect future queen?" Coen asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"More than one," Oliver admitted, "They're all incredibly smart and talented."

"Mind if we hear a little bit from the girls ourselves?" requested Coen.

Oliver shrugged. "Be my guest."

The host moved towards the Selected, and for a minute, Oliver wished he would've instructed Coen on who to talk to. He didn't think that he had done anything too terrible that first week, but if a girl who had been upset about Margaery's date or his inability to remember all of their names got hold of the microphone, it wouldn't be good for him.

Luckily, Coen started with Gabrielle, who was sitting in the middle of the front row. "Lady Gabrielle," _how on earth did he already know all of their names?_ "How has this first week at the palace been?"

When she answered, her response didn't seem rehearsed or sarcastic at all, which Oliver was grateful for. "It's been great," she declared, "We've had time to get to know each other, and we've also had some great time with Prince Oliver."

"What's been your favorite moment of the week?" pressed Coen.

Gabrielle's eyes flitted to Oliver, and she smiled warmly. "I'm afraid of heights, and His Majesty tried to help me through it on the water slide during the pool party," she explained, "He had the misfortune of putting up with my terrified screaming the whole time." There was a polite chuckle from the audience, and Coen turned to Kaitlyn, who was sitting beside Gabrielle.

"Lady Kaitlyn," he greeted her, "What do you think of the Selection so far?"

"It's a dream come true," she smiled shyly, and when she said it, Oliver didn't doubt her sincerity at all. "Everyone has been so kind and welcoming, and Prince Oliver is incredible."

"What's something you've learned about the prince since you've arrived?" Coen prompted.

"He's so selfless," answered Kaitlyn without missing a beat. It was strange to hear her call him selfless, since Oliver had never thought of himself as particularly sacrificing. "All week he's been racing around trying to get to know us all while keeping up his duties, but whenever you're spending time with him, he makes you feel like you're the most important thing at that moment." A few of the other girls nodded their agreement, and Oliver was a little proud of himself.

"Lady Isolde," Coen began, picking out the beautiful blonde in the middle row. _Oh, great,_ Oliver grimaced. "Do you find that your expectations of this process or His Majesty have been different than reality?"

"Sure," Isolde smiled calmly. Her eyes fell on Oliver, and he tried to telepathically plead with her not to drag him through the mud. "I think whenever someone is portrayed in the media one way, it's important to realize that such a portrayal is often taken out of context in order to sell a story, and even if it can be taken at face value, it's only one aspect of someone's personality."

Oliver's smile widened. He had almost expected Isolde to vilify him in an attempt to further her case to leave the palace. Given his behavior at the first party, she had more cause to than any of the other girls. But she had done the exact opposite and had even defended him against all of the magazines that were constantly trying to catch him at his worst behavior. He would plan a date with her for the week, and hopefully, it would be enough to get her to decide to stay, because the more he saw of her, the less willing Oliver was to let her go.

Coen talked to a few of the other girls, and Oliver was relieved that mostly everyone seemed excited to be there and already fond of him. He wasn't sure if it was an act for the cameras or not, but it was still nice to hear people praise him. After Coen had finished talking with the girls, they showed a few highlights from the week: him leading Addie around the garden, falling off the swan with Kaitlyn, cuddling snow leopards with Margaery. It looked like a good start, and his mom gave him a proud smile and affectionate pat on the arm when the clips ended. Coen signed off shortly after that, promising to be back with more Selection stories next week.

As soon as the cameras powered down, Oliver yanked his crown and jacket off. "Is it just me, or were those studio lights a million times hotter tonight?" he complained to Tristan as they headed back to the royal family's quarters.

Tristan looked amused. "I guess 'hot seat' isn't just a saying," he noted, "You were afraid they were going to be honest about how much you suck, weren't you?"

Oliver pretended to be offended. "Of course not," he shrugged, "I was just afraid they were going to embellish too much, and then everyone would know that they were lying." He opened the door of his study and dropped into the seat at his desk.

"Any idea who you're going to plan dates with this week?" Tristan asked as he took a seat across from his brother and rested his feet on the edge of the mahogany desk.

Oliver glared at Tristan's shoes as he reached for his monogrammed stationary. "That's what I'm working on," he declared. "Has my useless council come up with any ideas for dates?"

Tristan fidgeted. "We're brainstorming," he admitted.

"Well, hurry up," Oliver ordered as he scrawled out the first invitation. "I've got things to do, man. I can't wait on your three all week."

"It's hard when Elijah's best suggestion is a bar crawl, and Everly thinks that you should just take them shopping," sighed Tristan.

Oliver snorted, not surprised by either of those suggestions. "Aren't you the grand romantic?" he teased Tristan. "I'm counting on you to come up with something magical, especially for this first one."

"Who's it for?" Tristan asked as Oliver slipped the letter into a cream envelope.

"Isolde," he answered, "And it's kind of important. Despite what she said on _The Report_ , she's not my biggest fan."

"I'll think of something," Tristan promised. "What about the other ones?"

Oliver finished up a third invitation before he responded. "Cassandra," he explained, "I think I read that she plays the obo, so I thought I'd get the royal orchestra to do a private show."

"You're better at planning dates than you give yourself credit for," noted Tristan, "Are you sure _you're_ not the grand romantic?"

Oliver ignored him. "Then we have Presley," he declared, holding up another envelope, "Rosalie," another envelope, "Xylie," a final invitation, "and we'll figure out some bigger group thing to do for Thursday."

"Busy week for you," Tristan noted as he collected the envelopes, "Want me to deliver these?"

"Thanks," Oliver replied as he stood and stretched. "I'm gonna grab my post- _Report_ snack and probably head to bed. Mom will probably want to meet before breakfast tomorrow to go over approval ratings or something dumb like that."

"Good luck," Tristan chirped as he headed out to start his deliveries.

Before he could get too far, Oliver called, "Hey Tris." His brother's face reappeared in the doorway. "By the way," he smirked, "Great segment on _The Report_. Really feel inspired to combat Illéa's stray animal population by getting Blackie's balls chopped off now."

Tristan gave his brother a rude hand gesture and strode away. Oliver grinned. How was he supposed to not make fun of his brother when his parents kept making Tristan talk about ridiculous things like giant pumpkins and spaying and neutering pets? They were really setting him up for Oliver's ridicule.

On his way to the kitchen, Oliver caught sight of a familiar strawberry blonde head and grinned, his previous fatigue forgotten. "Hey, Addie!" he called, inadvertently startling her. She dropped the book that she had been carrying, and Oliver scooped it up and offered it out to her.

"Sorry," she laughed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You surprised me a little."

"Sorry," Oliver echoed. "What are you reading?" he added, glancing at the book.

She held it out. " _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ ," she explained, "We were talking about favorite books earlier, and Isolde recommended it, so I thought I'd see if the library had a copy."

"Tristan loves Jules Verne," Oliver laughed with a roll of his eyes. "We've got his entire collection in the library because of my brother. Something to keep in mind if you like that one."

"Thanks," smiled Adelaide.

"Hey," Oliver added, remembering something that had been bothering him for a few days, "I didn't see you at the pool party on Wednesday. Everything okay?"

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and she glanced down at the book in her hands. "Uh, yes," she replied with a forced smile, "I just, uh, wasn't really feeling well."

He wasn't sure if he bought her excuse, considering she had been at breakfast the mornings before and after the party, but he decided not to push it. None of the Selected had called him out on his phony ear infection, so he guessed they deserved a pass. "Well, since I didn't get to see you on Wednesday," Oliver mused, "Are you busy now?"

"No," Adelaide beamed in response, "Not at all."

"Great!" Oliver grinned. "We didn't get to use it during the day on Wednesday, but we have an awesome hot tub by the pool, too. Why don't you change and meet me out there?"

The color drained from her face. "Uh, I…," she stammered, "I-I can't swim!"

Ah, so that's why she had missed the pool party. He felt a little like a jerk for not thinking that some of the girls would be unable to swim. "No problem," Oliver assured her as he took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze, "The hot tub's pretty small, and it's got places to sit. Besides, I wouldn't let you drown anyway." He meant for it to be joking and reassuring, but Addie's face paled even further.

"We don't have to do all that," she insisted, "I'm sure you've got a lot to do. It would save you a lot of time if we just, um, took a walk in the garden or something?"

He laughed and pulled her in to his chest. "I will always have time for you," he assured her, "Now, go get changed." He kissed the top of her head before he pulled away and headed back to his own room.

Once he was clad in a pair of plain, navy swim trunks, he made a slight detour to the kitchen for a bottle of champagne and then headed out to the pool. Although he had tried to hurry, Adelaide was already seated in the hot tub, clad in a purple one-piece bathing suit. It was the first time that Oliver had seen her with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and it brought attention to her deep blue eyes.

The night air was a little chilly, so Oliver wasted no time in slipping into the hot tub beside her. "See," he sighed as the water warmed his body, "wasn't this a great idea?"

She looked a little more relaxed. "It is really nice," she admitted.

"So," Oliver began as he poured a glass of champagne for each of them, "The last time we talked I got the vibe that you don't really like modeling."

She froze, as though she wasn't used to someone gaining that kind of insight about her. "No," she finally admitted.

"What would you do if you weren't a model?" he asked.

Adelaide took a drink of her champagne and pondered the question. "I'd be a writer," she declared, "I've always loved it, and my dad encouraged me to do what I love."

"That sounds nice," Oliver contemplated. He loved his parents, but he couldn't imagine them allowing him to give up being king in order to do something that he loved.

"What about you?" Addie asked. "What would you do if you weren't the prince?"

He nervously ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. "Uh…" It was a question that he hated. Not only because he didn't really have an answer for it, but because it didn't matter even if he could think of something else he wanted to with his life. It would never be a possibility for him. "It's not really an option for me," he admitted, "I'm always going to have to be 'the prince', so there's not really much point in thinking about it."

They were both quiet for a minute, in which Oliver finished half of his drink, and Adelaide reached out to set a tentative hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she finally said in a soft voice, "I know what it's like to feel trapped by your life. My mom… well, she's the only reason I model in the first place. She's not easy to say no to." She gulped her champagne.

A question started nagging at his mind, and Oliver nervously chewed on his lip before he finally voiced it. "Is that why you entered the Selection?" he ventured. "Did your mom make you?"

Her blue eyes met his hazel ones. "No," she declared firmly, "She would have probably made me if I hadn't entered, but I did it on my own."

The confirmation that she had entered because she wanted to be there soothed Oliver's anxiety, and he reached out to put an arm around her and pull her into his side. She tensed in surprise, but after a moment, she relaxed in his embrace. "I'm really happy to be here," she added in a small voice.

A smile tugged at the corners of Oliver's mouth, and for once, he was very sure that it had nothing to do with the champagne. "I'm really happy you're here too," he admitted. And it was true. Despite all of his doubts and fears about the Selection, he wouldn't have traded that moment with Addie for all the booze and bimbos that Illéa had to offer.

She glanced up at him, and Oliver dropped his champagne flute into the water to gently cup her cheek with his free hand. He paused for a minute in case she pulled away, and when she didn't, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her.

He'd meant for the kiss to just compliment his assurance that he was glad to have her there with him, but the warmth of her skin, the closeness of their bodies, the smell of her shampoo… It was intoxicating, more so than any alcohol. When she tentatively traced a hand up his bare chest and tangled another in his damp hair, he had to repress a contented sigh.

Adelaide eventually pulled away, and Oliver tried to mask his disappointment. "I'm sorry," she quickly offered, her face a little overwhelmed. "I'm not very good at… I mean, I've never…"

He laughed and raised her chin so she would meet his eyes. "You're perfect," he assured her. "We should probably get back inside before anyone notices we're missing and sends the army after us."

He rose from the hot tub and grabbed the two towels that were sitting on a nearby chair. As he turned to hand her one, Addie emerged from the water, and Oliver nearly dropped the towel he had been holding out. "What _happened_?"

Her face blanched, and almost immediately, her eyes filled with tears. "It's nothing," she assured him as she grabbed the towel and tied it around her waist, hiding the angry welts and scars that marred the tops of her thighs.

"Addie," Oliver countered, eyes still wide with disbelief, "That's not _nothing_. Who did that?"

"Oliver, please," she begged, "It's really not a big deal."

What confused him more than the presence of the marks was the way that she seemed desperate to pretend he'd never seen. "Is this why you didn't come to the pool party?" he demanded. A few tears spilled out of her eyes. "Adelaide, tell me who hurt you."

She gave a small shake of her head. "I'm sorry," she choked out, "but I can't. At least not yet."

There was a small moment of silence between them before Oliver sighed and pulled her into his arms. "No one's ever going to hurt you again," he whispered.

And he meant it. Although he knew that only one girl would stay at the palace with him forever, the Selected were part of his life now. He would always try to help them, look out for them, and care about then. The idea of anyone hurting someone as sweet as Adelaide made him seethe with anger.

Once they had both calmed down—Oliver put away a few more glasses of champagne in the process—they returned to the palace. Adelaide headed to her room in the Selected's quarters, while Oliver turned for the kitchen, ready to procure the snack that he had originally set out for.

He was surprised to find that the kitchen wasn't empty. There were tons of ingredients littering the counters, and a dark haired girl was piling things high on an enormous plate. "Midnight snack?" Oliver smirked.

The girl glanced up, and the content expression on her face quickly changed to shock. "Your Majesty," she gasped, "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry if I'm not supposed to be here, I just—"

He waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it," he countered, "Dalila, right?"

She nodded, still looking embarrassed. "We had the same idea," Oliver explained, "I'm starving."

"I can make you something," she offered with a shrug, "I'm in culinary school back in Panama, so I volunteered for food duty."

Oliver settled into a chair at the counter. "That'd be awesome," he replied appreciatively. "What'd you get put on food duty for?" he added.

Dalila continued working as she spoke, currently loading up a plate of nachos. "A group of us girls got together after _The Report_ to hang out. Lady Reyna is a bartender, and she made a few drinks, and then…"

Oliver laughed. "You guys are drunk eating!"

Dalila shrugged, looking more amused than embarrassed. "Can't drink on an empty stomach." The oven behind her chimed, and she pulled a fresh pizza out. In addition to the pizza and nachos, there was a tray of baked pretzel sticks and numerous dipping sauces.

"I can see why they nominated you for food duty," Oliver noted appreciatively, "It smells great."

"Thanks," she beamed. "My family owns and runs a restaurant, so I've got plenty of experience. Got any particular kind of snack in mind?"

Oliver considered the question. "If you could make me scallops, I would be in your debt forever," he decided. "I've tried, but I always burn them."

"I'll do you one better," declared Dalila, "I will _teach_ you how to cook scallops."

The cooking experience that Oliver had up to that point was extremely limited. He could pour cereal and microwave popcorn, but as soon as an oven or stove top got involved, he usually tapped out. Dalila was a great instructor though. She used no recipes or timers, but his scallops turned out perfectly seasoned and cooked. Her ability to multitask was so impressive that they'd even had time to make a side of rice to go along with them.

"I'm sorry to Panama, but I'm going to need you to relocate to Angeles permanently," Oliver declared when he bit into the first scallop. "This is _amazing_."

She began collecting the snacks that she had made for the other Selected. "Hey, I didn't make them," she countered with a playful grin, "You did. Enjoy your snack, Your Majesty."

And just like that, she disappeared through the kitchen door and jumped right to the top of Oliver's need-to-spend-more-time-with list.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Thank you again to all my wonderful reviewers! I'm really excited to write more when I see all of your awesome feedback. ALSO! I made a pinterest page for the story. You can search the title or my name. If you make your own boards for the girls, I'd love to see them also.

* * *

Oliver spent most of the following morning planning his date that afternoon with Isolde. Luckily, Tristan had seemed to magically come up with a million ideas overnight and was actually helpful this time. By the time Oliver had to get ready, he was actually impressed with the plan that he and his brother had concocted. If this day didn't get Isolde to stay, nothing would.

He left ten minutes early to meet her at her room, just to make sure there was no way he could end up late and gain her ire. When he knocked on her door, one of Isolde's maids let him in. He wasn't surprised to find that she was already ready, lounging on the couch in her room in a pair of tan riding breaches, a white button up shirt, and brown riding boots, in accordance with the outfit requirements his invitation had suggested. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves around her face, held back by a pair of rose gold sunglasses that she had pushed onto her head.

"Ready?" he asked as he tried to ignore the nerves that were stirring in his stomach.

She nodded, and the pair started for the stables. "I suppose I don't have to ask what we're doing today?" she smirked, glancing at Oliver's riding clothes.

"A little birdie told me you like riding," he explained sheepishly.

She didn't seem surprised or bothered by the fact that Tristan had a hand in planning their date. "I do," she admitted, "I took lessons when I was younger."

"Just because?" Oliver asked.

She shrugged. "My dad told me to pick a sport," she explained.

Oliver noticed that she kept a further distance from him than Margaery or Adelaide had as they made their way outside. He considered taking a step closer to her to see what she would do, but he was a little intimidated by the knowledge that she hadn't been charmed by him like everyone else so he decided to hold off.

"How do you like the Selection so far?" he asked before he cringed. "Aside from… well, me."

Isolde laughed, turning her icy blue eyes on him. "It's been fine," she replied, "And it's not that I don't like you."

"Arguable," he countered, "But we'll agree to disagree."

"Yes, I have a feeling we'll be doing that a lot," she teased.

Luckily, they arrived at the stables, and Oliver was saved the trouble of responding. There was a camera crew waiting for them, but they didn't intrude much, simply hanging around and filming the pair. Oliver stopped outside of Blackie's stall and gestured around. "Pick whoever," he offered.

Isolde glanced at the huge black stallion. "Is he yours?" she asked.

Oliver nodded and rubbed a hand over the stallion's nose. "Yeah. We bred his parents here, and I've had him ever since."

"He's beautiful," she complimented, "What's his name?"

Oliver blushed, as he always did when people inquired after the magnificent stallion's identity. "In my defense, I was twelve when I named him," he mumbled, "But, uh, Blackie."

As he suspected she would, she laughed. "Well, Blackie," she addressed the horse, reaching out to rub a hand over the muscled neck, "You're gorgeous." The horse seemed to enjoy the attention, and he bobbed his head cheerfully.

"Alright, show off," mumbled Oliver as he picked up Blackie's leather halter and slipped it over his head.

Isolde smiled before she wandered down the barn aisle, stopping every so often to peek in at the stall's inhabitants. Oliver took the extra time to rub a curry comb over Blackie's already shining coat, waving the grooms that approached away. Isolde came back leading a grey dapple shortly after Oliver started tacking Blackie up. "I'm guessing you named this one too?" she asked.

He glanced up and laughed when he realized that her guess was correct. "Hey, Smoke is perfectly fitting for her," he argued.

She shrugged her agreement and started readying her horse as well. They worked mostly in silence, save the occasional stamp or horse nicker, and soon, they lead the horses outside, ready to go. He was about to ask her if she needed help, but Isolde's height and experience were enough, and when he glanced over his shoulder, she was already astride the big gray horse.

He heaved himself onto Blackie's back and took a moment to collect himself. It had been a while since he'd been riding, and for a minute, he wondered if Tristan had suggested it so he would look like an idiot in front of Isolde. "Where to?" she asked. It was the happiest she'd looked in Oliver's presence yet, and it made him relax a little.

"There's some trails over there," he gestured to the far right side of the palace grounds. He was about to suggest that they take off when he noticed the camera crew still lingering near the stable. He tried not to groan. As if a date with Isolde wasn't going to be challenging enough, they still had to perform for the masses. He raised a hand politely, and she glanced in the direction of his wave.

"Ah," she noted as she collected her reins. "Maybe we should just take it slow for a while?"

He nodded, and they urged their horses forward, the cameras at their heels. "So, how'd you get into politics?" he asked, glancing over at her.

She considered the question. "It just kind of happened," she admitted, "My dad is a political science professor, so I guess it's something I've always been interested. I found the internship at the governor's office, and it just seemed so right, like such a good way for me to make a difference in people's lives."

He realized that he was staring at her, a little awed, and he turned his attention to Blackie's mane. "So, you'd be pretty prepared to be queen," he mused.

"The public service does coincide pretty well with what I'd like to do," she admitted, eyes twinkling. "Even if I weren't to become queen, though, I'd still continue in the area. I think being a representative in Carolina would be amazing."

They lapsed into an easy silence before Isolde finally suggested, "Tell me something about Oliver. Not the prince or the person that I've seen in the media."

The presence of the cameras suddenly seemed much more oppressive. "Uh…" He glanced over his shoulder at them. The man who looked in charge of the group seemed to catch on that they weren't wanted anymore, and he offered to catch up with them when they were back at the palace. He smiled ruefully. "No escaping now, huh?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Nope," she declared, "Spill it, Woodwork."

A laugh erupted at the sound of his last name. "Woodwork," he mused, "I don't think anyone's ever called me that… ever."

She seemed somewhat pleased by that. "Good. That can be mine, then."

The idea of her giving him a nickname seemed a little surprising given the rocky start that they had gotten off to, but he wasn't about to question it. "Alright, something about myself. Hm."

Their horses picked through grass and trees as he thought, and he was a little embarrassed by how long it took him to think of something that he thought was even remotely interesting. "Uh, I really like old drama or romance movies," he finally concluded. "And I have been known to cry during one or two."

"A movie crier," Isolde noted, "Surprising. I pegged you more for an action or comedy guy."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I like to keep people on their toes."

"I don't know if I believe it," teased Isolde, "We might have to watch a movie later so I can see this for myself."

"You're on," he grinned. "I bet you would cry first though."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know about that," she countered, "but what are the stakes?"

"If I win, I get another date," grinned Oliver, "And if you win… well, if you win and you still want to leave, I'll let you."

Shock captured her face. "High stakes," she considered, "but okay. You're on." Then, she spurred Smoke forward and took off at a canter. Oliver smiled in amusement and urged Blackie after her.

They were out much longer than Oliver had originally planned, and by the time he dismounted, he could already feel the soreness blossoming in his leg joints. He made a mental note to visit his equine friend sooner rather than later to keep himself in shape and began the process of putting Blackie away.

"I'm surprised that you do this stuff yourself," Isolde admitted as she heaved Smoke's saddle off her back. Oliver took it from her and deposited both saddles back in the tack room.

"You really think I'm a spoiled brat, don't you?" he asked, amused.

Isolde shrugged. "You said it, not me."

A lunch overlooking the gardens (complete many of her favorite foods) awaited them back at the castle, but on the way, Isolde asked, "So, what movie are we going to watch?" And suddenly their lunch turned into a dinner.

He didn't want to risk losing their bet, so he brought out the big guns. "Ever read _Peter Pan_?" he asked while setting up the movie.

Isolde settled on the couch. "Of course I've read _Peter Pan_ ," she responded, and he could picture her rolling her eyes behind him.

"Good," he beamed as he joined her on the couch, keeping a comfortable amount of room between them. A maid had already deposited some popcorn and drinks for them, and he reached for the bowl of popcorn. "This is called _Finding Neverland_ , and it's about the author."

It was one of Oliver's favorites. The first time he had seen the movie he had been so amazed by the idea that someone could live in a world completely of their own, to _see_ the magic that only existed in stories. He also liked that it wasn't a typical love story. While there was an element of romance, the love that the author and the family shared was so much more.

Having seen the film many times, Oliver spent more time watching Isolde out of the corner of his eye throughout it. She didn't shift any closer, the popcorn bowl still keeping them at a comfortable distance, but she looked relaxed, as though she didn't mind spending time with him.

He knew he was going to win the bet before it happened. When the author, J.M. Barrie, came to see the ill Sylvia and they discussed going to Neverland, Isolde's lip quivered. When Sylvia's sons conspired with Barrie to have the play performed in Sylvia's home because she was too sick to leave, the first tear fell. When desolate little Peter asked Barrie why she had to die as they sat together in Kensington Park, she collapsed into gut wrenching sobs.

At first, Oliver was completely terrified. He had wanted to win the bet, but seeing Isolde, who was always so confident and sure, completely break down threw him off. He wasn't sure of what else to do, so he moved the popcorn bowl and pulled her into his arms. She surprisingly allowed him, and she cried into his shirt throughout the final moments of the movie.

They were silent as the final strains of the film's score died. She'd managed to stop crying, but her nose was sniffly and there were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Sorry," Oliver offered, chuckling a little, "I forgot how much it really gets you that first time."

"You don't mess around with bets, I guess," she laughed as she rubbed her eyes.

"Well, luckily, I've still got one more thing planned," he announced, "It probably wouldn't look good if we ended this with you crying." She laughed in agreement, and he lead her out to the balcony that had been prepped for their lunch.

Isolde's jaw dropped when she saw the spread. "Tacos?" she beamed excitedly.

He shrugged and offered, "A little birdie." He offered her a plate and watched in amusement as she loaded it up, obviously committed to trying each of the fillings and condiments that he'd had set out. He followed her suit, and they sat down in the cool dusk air.

"So even though I totally won the bet," he began as he munched on his first taco, "I'm not a monster. If you still want to leave in two weeks, you can."

"Well," she considered, "A deal's a deal. I owe you one more date, and then we'll see. These tacos are really acting in your favor right now though."

They spent the next hour talking and eating. He learned that she was an only child, and he in turn told her as many embarrassing stories about Tristan as he could think of. They did a run through of likes and dislikes, and Oliver found that they had a few more things in common that he had originally thought (they both loved spicy food and hated dancing). By the time they'd finished, and the sun had disappeared, he felt a little more confident in the budding relationship. At the very least, he didn't think she was going to hightail it out of the palace any time soon.

After he'd walked Isolde back to her room—no kiss, but he was trying to focus on the positives—he headed back to his own quarters. When he passed his mom's study, he found that the door was open, the light was on, and he suspected she was waiting for him, as she called his name as soon as he strolled by. He poked his head in, hoping it wouldn't take long. To his disappointment, she gestured to the seat across from her.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, trying to think of anything that he could possibly be berated for.

She laughed. "No," she countered, "I just wanted to check in, see how things are going."

"Uh… they're fine," he shrugged. "There was one girl that asked to leave, but—"

Eadlyn cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Uh, yeah, Isolde," he explained.

"Oliver," his mother admonished, "She's _wonderful_. What did you possibly do—"

"Hey, we went on a date today, and I think things are good," he cut her off, a little defensive. "It was just a bit of a rough start, but it's fine. I sent a few girls home, I think I'm making progress, so let's just chill a little."

She did not look like she was chilling, but she dropped the subject. "Your approval ratings are up," she noted as she examined a newspaper. "Unfortunately, there's a little concern about Tristan's involvement in the process."

Oliver grit his teeth together. "It's like the country doesn't even want me to get along with my brother," he mumbled.

"I think they just don't want you to depend on him," Eadlyn offered gently. "It's not a big concern though, so let's not worry about it. I heard you went to visit Dr. Phineas and his little project. How was that?"

He told her all about their visit to the conservation center and botanical gardens—including the snow leopard named in her honor, which she wasn't as flattered by as he had thought she'd be—as well as a PG version of his date with Margaery. She seemed pleased, and she released him to go to bed shortly after that.

On his way to his room, he passed Celine's open door. He raised a hand to wave, but when she noticed him, she hopped off her bed. "Oliver!" she exclaimed, "I have to talk to you about something."

He groaned. "Not tonight, Cel," he insisted, "I'm way too tired. I was out riding for like two hours earlier, and I'm basically gonna die if I don't a shower and sleep."

"But it's important!" she argued, crossing her arms.

"Well, it can be important tomorrow," he called over his shoulder as he made it to the safety of his room and shut the door.

At breakfast the next morning, he was a little nervous that the progress he had made with Isolde might have disappeared over night, but she smiled warmly at him when he caught her eye, which was enough for him. "How's everyone's weekend been?" he asked the girls as he started in on his breakfast.

"Not as good as Isolde's," Irina quipped. Although he suspected she was teasing, there was a heated exchange of glares between she and Isolde, but he decided it was best to ignore it. "It sounds like she had quite a wonderful Friday night."

He was a little confused, since his date with Isolde had been on Saturday, but she quickly refuted Irina. "Oliver and I actually spent Saturday together," she politely corrected the girl, "But yes, it was wonderful."

A malicious smile lit up Irina's face. "Oh, I wasn't talking about Ol—"

But they would never know what Irina was going to say because Tristan cut in, "These crepes are delicious. Don't you think, Lady Mae?" He turned to the girl sitting closest to him, and although she looked confused by his sudden interest in their breakfast, she agreed with the prince.

"Oliver," Celine said quietly, "I need to talk to you about something after breakfast."

"Later, Cel," he promised her. "I've got things planned for after breakfast." She looked irritated by the way that he put her off again and opened her mouth to insist, but one glance from her mother silenced her. Instead she rolled her eyes and aggressively stabbed at a piece of sausage on her plate.

After breakfast, he'd instructed Lady Cassandra to hang back for their date. She was wearing a jacquard white and blue floral print dress, silver open toed heels, and her hair was pulled into a sleek bun. She looked nervous as Oliver approached her. "Lady Cassandra," he smiled.

She curtsied. "Your Highness," she replied.

"Oliver, please," he instructed as he offered his arm to her. She accepted it, though she still seemed a little tense as they made their way out to the gardens. A camera crew soon joined them, and he noticed it did little to help Cassandra relax. "So I hear that you're a musician," he noted.

She nodded enthusiastically. "I play the obo."

"Is it something that runs in your family?" he asked.

"Not really," Cassandra admitted, "My mom is an artist, and my dad's a sports reporter. My brother is a pianist, though."

"Where do you play back home?" Oliver continued. "Does Labrador have an orchestra or anything like that?"

She blushed a little. "We mostly just play at home," she explained, "Or occasionally at parties. My actual job is as a librarian."

"Did you bring your obo to the castle?" he asked. She nodded. "Well, you'll have to play for us sometime," Oliver declared. They reached the set up that he had concocted in the garden, and he gestured to one of the two seats. They were surrounded by bushes and flowers, and the small group of musicians from the royal orchestra had set up in front of a fountain.

Cassandra's excitement was evident. Oliver tried asking her a few more things while the musicians were warming up, but it was almost like she didn't notice anything else when there were instruments in front of her. The conductor greeted to them, sending a bow in the prince's direction before he announced they would be performing The Magic Flute, one of Oliver's favorites.

"My brother's named Amadeus," Cassandra excitedly whispered. Oliver tried to ask if he lived up to his namesake, but as soon as the music started, it was a lost cause.

She was completely entranced by the music. Her excitement swelled with the piece's intensity, and despite the fact that they were the only two present, she jumped from her seat and erupted into applause immediately after the final note. "That was _incredible_ ," she gushed, "Mozart is challenging for any musician, and I've never heard it done so beautifully."

Her enthusiasm was amusing but refreshing. He thought it was incredible that she could be so passionate about something that was, for all intents and purposes, a hobby. "Here, let me introduce you," he offered, taking her hand and leading her towards the musicians.

"Signor Calavali," he greeted the conductor.

"Your Majesty," Calavali responded, bowing once more. "And who is this?"

"Lady Cassandra," Oliver explained, "She's a musician herself, so I thought she'd like to see you guys in action."

The older man smiled at Cassandra. "And what did you think, Miss?"

"It was incredible!" Cassandra confirmed. "I don't know if you're musicians or magicians, but I've never heard anything so wonderful." Calavali appeared pleased by her praise and called the other members of the orchestra over for introductions. Oliver mostly hung back while she excitedly spoke with them. The cameras lingered on her, and he could only imagine how she looked on film, alit with pure joy and passion.

"Thank you," she sighed as they made their way back to the castle. "This has easily been the best day of my entire life."

"You're welcome," he laughed. "Practice up, though. After seeing how happy you've been all day, I'm dying to hear you play."

She nodded, looking determined. "I definitely will," she confirmed. "Thank you again." They parted on the Selected's floor, and Oliver took a minute to swing by the room that Elijah had been staying in since the Selected started.

He was a little surprised to find that his friend and cousin were lounging on the couch, casually chatting while they watched television. "Am I interrupting something?" he laughed.

"Of course not, mon amie," smiled Everly. She gestured to the armchair across from her, and Oliver took a seat. "How was your date?" she asked. "We could hear la belle musique from here."

"This French-English mixture you've got going on is weird," Elijah declared.

Everly ignored him, and Oliver laughed. "It was fine," he shrugged, "She seemed to really like it."

"And did you really like her?" Elijah asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Everly rolled her eyes.

"It wasn't as… electric as with some of the other girls," he admitted, "but I had a nice time with her. I think next time we'll probably do something that I like, and see if we're a good mix."

"Sounds smart," Everly allowed.

"And boring," Elijah interjected.

He laughed. "This is more of a process than I thought," he admitted, "I hoped I'd just see one and know and get to send all the others home in a few days."

"Look, I know you're a prince and everything, but that's the kind of stuff from an actual fairytale," laughed Elijah. "I don't think that happens."

"It did for our grandparents," shrugged Oliver. He stood. "Hey, have either of you seen my sister? She's been harassing me about something since last night." Everly said that she'd seen her in the women's room, and since Oliver wasn't sure that he wanted to see so many of the Selected after his date with Cassandra, he made a mental note to talk to Celine later.

Since he had a few hours of freedom, he decided to go on a run around the palace grounds. The Selection had been a lot of eating and lounging so far, and those last two abs weren't going to show up on their own. The afternoon air was hot, and he was pleasantly exerted by the time he made it back to the castle.

His second date for the day—going on two dates in a day was a little weird, he realized a little late—was a dinner date with Presley. The dining hall was too large for any kind of intimate date, so he had her meet him on one of the balconies that overlooked the grounds. It was warm enough that dinner outside would be pleasant.

When he met her, he was impressed by how nice she looked. Presley was certainly pretty, although it wasn't in the traditional way that Oliver tended to go for. She had a much curvier bottom half, and she dressed herself incredibly well in a white t-shirt tucked into a navy mid length skirt with gold and cream stripes. Her curly brown hair was pushed back with a gold headband, and a pair of navy heels gave her a few more inches.

Oliver was a little late (was it surprising by now?), and he hurried to pull out Presley's chair for her. "Sorry," he mumbled apologetically as he rolled up the sleeves on the white button up that he had paired with dark jeans. "Went for a run, lost track of time, had to take a shower 'cause I was gross…" His hair was still wet from said shower, and he felt like a sloppy drowned rat.

"It's alright," Presley laughed, "Some of the girls spied you out from the women's room, so I figured you might be a little late."

Oliver smirked. "What'd you think of the view?"

"Uh, I didn't actually look," she admitted, "I was doing some reading."

"Oh," frowned Oliver, a little put out. "Were you at least reading something good?"

"Not really," she admitted, "It's a textbook for one of my classes. My professors were kind enough to give me my work before I left so I don't fall behind."

"Psychology, right?" he remembered, thinking of the tests that had entertained Celine so much.

She nodded. "And sociology."

One of the head chefs, Antonio, pushed a cart with their dinners over. "What got you into that?" he asked as Antonio began setting out their food.

"Thank you," she smiled at the chef politely before she returned her attention to Oliver. "Uh, it's sort of a long story. Mostly, I just want to be able to help other girls who are struggling."

"Struggling how so?" Oliver asked as he twirled his fork around the fettucine alfredo before him.

Presley gave a casual shrug. "Bullying, body image, that sort of thing."

The strange thing was, being a prince, Oliver didn't really know about either of those things. He'd always been told that he was good looking, and the closest he'd ever felt to bullied was from the media. "Were those things that you struggled with?" he asked.

She faltered for a second, and piece of her chicken parmigiana flopped off her fork. "Well, yeah," she admitted. "I know you've got your own struggle with your eight pack, but it's not really easy to look like… well, me."

It might not have been the best reaction, but Oliver laughed. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "You're beautiful and sexy. And smart."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Thanks," she responded, "but mostly in high school, I always just felt fat. And you know, the mean kids never let you forget it."

He wanted to be able to empathize, but the truth was, Oliver's position usually kept the 'mean kids' from saying anything to his face. "So, is that why you entered the Selection?" he prompted, "Good platform?"

She nodded. "Sorry, but I haven't been hopelessly in love with you for years," she confirmed, "I think that you have such an amazing opportunity to change the world as king. And…" She trailed off and shrugged.

"And what?" he prompted.

"Well, and it kind of seems like you're wasting it," Presley declared, neither looking nor sounding apologetic at all.

 _Woah_.

"Look, I appreciate the delusions of grandeur that you guys seem to have," he huffed, "but being king isn't just about changing the world. You do realize that I have to maintain the world, every day, also, right? I have to keep the entire country running, day in and day out, no holidays, no sick days. All because of my last name."

"Well, are you even interested in doing that?" Presley asked, "Because the Selection is the most important thing that you've done as prince so far, and you didn't even make an effort to learn everyone's name before we got here."

Oliver gritted his teeth together, something he usually refrained from as his dentist had once warned him it could mess up their perfect alignment. "Forgive me, Lady Presley, but only the Elite are entitled to learn any of the political complexities tied to being a ruler."

"Is this something that you do often?" Presley challenged. "Shut down when something comes up that you don't want to face?"

"Are you going to psychoanalyze me now?" laughed Oliver. "Because I don't think that I'd trust a mere student to do so."

A heavy silence settled between the two of them, and Oliver wondered how on earth the date had gone bad so quickly. Finally, Presley spoke. "Look, I'm sorry if I came off… a little strongly," she admitted, "I just know what it's like to struggle, and I'm sorry if this is something you don't like to share with people, but it seems like you're struggling."

He laughed dryly as he reached for his wine. "I'm the crown prince of Illéa," he reminded her. He gestured to the expansive palace. "I have all of this. No one is more powerful than me. What could I possibly struggle with?"

"Who you are," Presley offered softly, the previous fire having left her voice, "What you're meant to be."

Despite his jab at how she was merely a student of psychology, he had a feeling that she was going to be very good at her job. It felt like she had hit the nail on the head completely, and he was desperate to change the subject. There was only so much of _him_ that he could discuss. "You know," he mused, "Isolde hates me, and she didn't even say such mean things to me."

Presley laughed, and the tension between them seemed to dissipate somewhat. "She doesn't hate you," she retorted with a roll of her eyes. "We just have... similar opinions about how you use your position."

"Friends, huh?" groaned Oliver. "Great. What a duo."

Presley shrugged. "We get along well," she confirmed.

"Do you want to take a walk?" Oliver asked. "Not really hungry anymore." Accusatory conversations had a way of killing one's appetite.

"Me neither," she laughed, "We'd be terrible at dinner parties."

"Well, dinner parties are terrible to start with," Oliver divulged, "Maybe we'd get people to leave sooner if you just sat around shrinking them the whole time."

"Oh, good plan," she agreed. "More desserts for us that way."

Despite the tense foot that their evening had started on, they both seemed to simmer down as they strode through the gardens. "You have some lovely trees," Presley complimented.

"I used to love climbing them and hiding from everyone when I was younger," he admitted, glancing up at a particularly climb-able weeping willow.

"Left your climbing days behind?" Presley asked. She had a challenging gleam in her eye, and Oliver scoffed.

"Of course not."

She kicked off her heels, and soon, they were both pulling themselves into the tree. As she was dressed in a skirt, she had a more difficult time of it than Oliver did, and he had to stop himself from laughing at her several times as she tried to ascend without flashing any potential passersby. He settled himself on a particularly wide branch and offered his hand to pull her up to join him.

"You really do have a beautiful home," Presley smiled as she stared at the palace.

"It's definitely one of the perks of the job," Oliver confirmed.

"Sorry if it seemed like I was attacking you earlier," she finally mumbled.

He shrugged. "Everything you said was true," he admitted.

The branch wasn't wide enough that their sides weren't pressed together, and Oliver glanced over at her. "If I tried to kiss you right now, what would be the odds of you pushing me out of this tree?" he asked.

"Very high," she laughed. "Too soon."

He grinned. "I figured."

"But what I said earlier about struggling," she began, "If you ever _did_ want to talk or I could help you in any way, I'm here as long as you keep me around."

"I'll keep it in mind," he smirked. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching as night settled over the castle. Finally, Oliver frowned. "We better get back soon. All the media needs is to see me hanging out in a tree to declare me useless and overthrow me themselves."

They made their way down, Presley going first because she declared that she didn't trust Oliver to avert his eyes (which he didn't argue against). When they were on the ground, he offered his hand to Presley, and she accepted, interlacing her fingers with his. As they made their way back to the palace, Oliver was content. At the very least, he'd made a friend, the first since Elijah. And at best, he had a feeling that Presley had the potential to understand him better than anyone else.

Either way, things were good, and Oliver was happy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note** : I was having the worst writer's block before this, and then I had parmesan bites and a huge cup of coffee at 7pm and here we are at 3:30am. Miracles do happen, people. Enjoy, and as always, thank you for being a part of this story with me (:

* * *

"I don't know if this is a good idea."

Oliver smirked at his brother's uncertainty. "It's a _great_ idea," he countered.

Tristan frowned. "I don't think you're qualified to make that decision."

"Look," Oliver sighed, a little tired of defending his decisions, "they're gonna love this. And I learned my lesson the first time."

Tristan glanced around the ballroom and frowned. He didn't look convinced by Oliver's reassurances. "Did you have to pick _this_ room?" he sighed, "If anyone gets paint on the floor, Mom is going to kill you."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "It'll be fine," he assured his killjoy brother. After a moment of thought he added, "Maybe put something over the floor at Molly's station. She has a talent for spilling."

"Where did you even get this idea?" asked Tristan as he examined the painting supplies that each easel had been provided with.

Oliver shrugged. "Everyone loves a paint and sip," he insisted, "Where have you been, Tris?"

"Do I have to come to this?" Tristan complained, performing his roll of annoying younger brother quite well.

" _Yes,_ " Oliver repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. "I need you to sit next to Isolde. I'm going to try to spend time with the girls that I haven't been on dates with yet, but I don't want Isolde to feel left out or decide that maybe she does want to leave."

Tristan's face flickered before he pasted a frown on it again. "Fine," he mumbled. "If I'd known that I was going to be at your beck and call when I took on this Selection council, I would've said no."

"If I'd known that I was going to be stuck with your whining, I'd—"

"What a fun idea!" Both boys turned to see their parents strolling in to the ballroom. Eadlyn looked impressed at the setup. The easels were worked into three groups of ten, where the girls could pick different pictures to paint. Oliver had procured three instructors who had assured him it would be fun even if the girls were terrible artists.

Kile smirked at his son. "When did you become such an artist?" he asked.

Oliver held his hands up. "I'm not painting," he assured him, "just monitoring."

"And drinking, most likely," Tristan added with a roll of his eyes.

"Why don't you have a glass to calm down, dear?" Eadlyn suggested, "You seem a little uptight today."

"He's complaining about being my lackey," Oliver explained.

"Why are you such a pompous a—"

"Doesn't it just warm your heart to see how much our kids love each other, Eady?" Kile snorted.

She didn't answer, as she was busy scoping out the ballroom. Although he didn't get to see if often, he knew that his mother definitely had a creative side. Hale often joked about how she faxed him designs for dresses in the middle of the night when the ideas came to her mind. Oliver smiled in an amused fashion as he watched her. "Mom," he began, "you and dad haven't gotten much time to meet the Selected other than at meals. Care to join us?"

Her eyes lit up, although she tried to mask her excitement. "Oh, I don't know," she sighed, "I probably have a ton of work to do." She turned her attention to Kile as she tried to gauge his interest.

"Oh, come on, Eady," he urged with a knowing smile, "It'll be fine. Neena can handle whatever's on the docket for today." Oliver had heard that Lady Neena had once been his mother's maid, but since her coronation, she had served as Lord Chancellor, the highest ranking member on Eadlyn's privy council.

Eadlyn beamed, turning back to her son. "Alright, you've convinced me," she declared, "Painting sounds fun." After a moment, she blushed a little and added, "And I'd love to meet the girls, of course."

Although it wasn't something that he usually advertised, Oliver was a fairly talented artist himself. He didn't devote much time to it, usually just a doodle in the corner of his notes in Council meetings, but he'd spent the previous evening elegantly painting the girls' names at the top of their canvases. He'd placed them in groups with girls he hadn't seen them interact with yet or that they didn't have much in common with to see how they interacted in different social groups. He hadn't been able to help himself from adding a little snow leopard after Margaery's name or a tree in the corner of Presley's.

When the girls walked into the ballroom, he saw varying sorts of reactions. Some looked excited when they saw the easels, while some looked nervous. However, as soon as they realized the King and Queen were standing next to Oliver, almost everyone's face adopted a similar look of fear. There were a few exceptions, but as a whole, the group looked intimidated.

"Hey," Oliver greeted them, and they curtsied in response. "So, uh, this is my mom and dad," he gestured to them, "They're gonna hang out today, but don't let them make you nervous. My mom will probably be too into painting to notice anything else, and my dad makes bad jokes just like anyone else's." Eadlyn rolled her eyes while Kile feigned an insulted look.

He swept a hand out to the three groups of easel's. "We're doing a paint and sip today," he explained, "So there'll be waiters around to take your wine orders, and I've got three instructors that are gonna walk us through some different paintings. Have fun, though. This is a judgement free zone."

At the conclusion of his explanation, the girls took to the easels, excitedly looking for their names. Oliver took the time to collect a glass of merlot from a nearby waiter and savored its dry, almost vanilla flavor as he watched the instructors get the ball rolling. Well, savored it as much as he could with Tristan's eagle eyes on him from his seat beside Isolde.

The girls were all given aprons to protect their dresses—and Molly did get a larger sheet to put under her setting after she almost knocked her red paint onto the light colored floor—and they seemed to get into the activity as Oliver had hoped they would. He approached Brynn first. He hadn't gotten much of a chance to talk to her since the first wine night, and she'd been on his mind lately.

"Lady Brynn," he greeted her.

She shot a wide smile up at him. "Hello, Your Majesty."

"Oliver, please," he corrected.

"Oliver." She tested it, then smiled, as though she approved of the name. "This was a great idea, by the way."

They both turned their attention to her painting. The instructor for her group was taking them through a cherry blossom tree and ocean scene, but Brynn it seemed as though Brynn hadn't been paying close attention to him. Her tree sprouted from the middle of the ocean rather than a hill like the other girls'. She was happily adding bursts of rainbow colors to the leaves instead of the standard pink cherry blossoms.

"I guess I didn't really get the grass memo," she mused as they inspected the canvas.

Oliver laughed. "I like it this way."

Brynn glanced back at him, as though evaluating him in a new light. "Me too," she declared. "Are you going to paint anything today?" she added as her brush danced across the canvas material.

Oliver's hand twitched involuntarily as though it was recalling the thirty names he had labored over the previous night. "I think I'm good," he countered, "I spent most of yesterday night painting all of the names, so I'm good for a couple of years."

Brynn leaned closer to examine the name that was down hidden beneath the surface of her blue ocean. "Wow," she remarked, "You have great handwriting."

"Thanks," he laughed, "For some reason, I think it's required when you're in line for the throne. They really hammered it into us." He nodded at his parents, who were laughing as they examined something on Kile's canvas.

An absentminded smile turned up the corners of Brynn's mouth. "They seem great," she noted in regards to his parents, "Really happy."

"They are," Oliver agreed, giving them an affectionate eye roll as Kile threatened to touch Eadlyn's nose with the purple paint on his brush. "What about your parents?" he added as he returned his attention to Brynn. "What are they like?"

She gave a shrug of her small shoulders, though the smile didn't leave her face. "I don't know," she admitted, "I never knew them."

 _This is why you should've read the fucking files_ , Oliver scolded himself. "Oh, uh, I'm, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to…" he stammered.

She laughed and reached out to put a comforting hand on his arm. "It's fine," she insisted, "I was adopted when I was really young. My adoptive mother is awesome though."

A small exhale of relief escaped Oliver. "Are you guys close?" he asked.

"Very," confirmed Brynn with a smile, "We've only written about a hundred letters since I've been gone. She… wasn't really sure about the Selection." She seemed to notice the way Oliver's smile collapsed after the latter part of her statement and added, "She just hasn't really had good experiences with men."

"What about you?" Oliver asked before he could help himself. He cringed. "Sorry, I guess that was kind of rude."

Brynn laughed, a light, happy sound that Oliver enjoyed. "I'll let you know when I've had some," she replied, "A protective mom isn't really conducive to dating."

So he was her first relationship. No pressure. "Well, hopefully you've only got good things to write home about while you're here," he offered.

She gave him a playful wink and answered in agreement, "Can't complain so far."

He smiled and for a minute, he wished he hadn't already booked all of his date time for the week. She was wearing a coral skirt that fell a few inches below her knees with a turquoise and navy striped shirt. Between her colorful outfit, happy smile, and eccentric painting, she just seemed so carefree and fun. "What are you doing Saturday?" he asked.

She sucked in a deep breath. "Gosh, it's so hard to say," she deliberated, "Could be a strenuous day of doing nothing in the Women's Room or a leisurely lounge day in my room."

"Well, I would hate to inconvenience you," smirked Oliver, "But I would love it if you could find some time to hang out with me. We've got to change your mom's opinion of me, after all."

"You're right," nodded Brynn, "It's our duty. I suppose I'll sacrifice my day of rest."

"You're such a martyr," he grinned. She held her wine glass up in a toast, and Oliver clinked his against it before he said goodbye and started patrolling the ball room again.

He ventured to a different group. They were working on a night scene that featured a mason jar of fireflies. He did a brief circle of the group before he stopped at the painting that was undeniably the best. "Lady Laine," he greeted the artist, "You definitely have an eye for art."

She flushed with pride, although she tried not to let it show as she continued to focus on her canvas. "Thank you, Your Highness," she replied as a smile tugged at her mouth.

"Are you an artist, or have we discovered a hidden talent?" he asked as he sipped at his wine. It was still his first glass, and when he noticed Tristan eyeing him, he raised it at him in greeting and also a petty, silent way of saying _see I can take care of myself_.

She shook her head before pushing a lock of her chin length, strawberry blonde hair behind her ears. "No, I'm a dancer," she explained. "I've never really painted before."

"They're kind of similar," Oliver offered before he furrowed his brow at himself. They weren't similar at all. "Both, uh, arts. It's kind of like dancing. With your fingers."

Laine laughed and paused, turning her olive green eyes on him. "I've never thought of it that way," she chuckled.

"Probably because that's the dumbest way to think of painting," Oliver admitted, "Let's forget I said that." She laughed in response and nodded. "Well, still, it looks great. You've definitely got my vote for Best in Show."

From behind him, Xylie gasped. "It's a _competition_?" she demanded.

Oliver shook his head as he took another drink of his wine. Why couldn't he say anything that wasn't stupid today? "No," he assured her, "Just joking."

Laine looked a little annoyed that Xylie had derailed her compliment, but she bolstered her smile. "Well, thanks for compliment anyway," she told him warmly. They chatted for a few more minutes about painting—she even let him add a firefly to the canvas—before Oliver noticed his parents had started to circulate and left to monitor the pair.

"How's it going?" he asked, tossing an arm around his dad's shoulders. It was then that he noticed his mother had stopped to speak with Isolde, and he groaned, realizing he had picked the wrong parent to babysit.

"Great," responded Kile, "I painted a duck."

Oliver had a lot of questions, but he decided to ignore them for the moment. "Have any interesting conversations?" he asked.

"I briefly spoke with Lady Patricia," his dad explained, "Turns out she's a chess player. I told her I've been looking for someone good to play so I can show Kaden up when he's back next, so she's going to give me some tips sometime." Oliver grinned. Leave it to Patricia to win over his dad. She was just fun and easy to be around.

"Well, don't scare any of them away," Oliver ordered as he clapped his dad's shoulder. "Got to get one of them to marry me."

"Poor girls," smirked Kile before he drifted away to talk with Lady Evelyn, who was one of the younger girls.

He ventured over to the group that Tristan and Isolde were a part of, relieved that his mother hadn't lingered too long. "How's it going over here?" he asked. The girls all answered with a chorus of varying positive replies. Oliver tried to choke down his laughter as he examined the picture that they were painting. In honor of the pumpkin growing contest that Tristan had announced on _The Report_ a few weeks ago, Oliver had requested that they paint a pumpkin, and the instructor had complied.

Although it was a relatively simple picture, the girls' paintings all different. He stopped and examined Lady Samantha's. It had a striking amount of detail in the color blending, and Oliver recalled that she was the one who had wanted to be a clothing designer. "That looks awesome," he complimented, "Are all your designs this detailed?"

She jumped a little, as though she hadn't expected him to linger long by her. "I try," she admitted, "Some days they're better than others."

"Would you show me them sometime?" he requested.

Although she looked a little intimidated at the prospect, she gave a small nod. "Yeah," she agreed. "They're not anything special, but—"

"If you put half as much attention into them as this," he nodded at the canvas, "I'm sure they're amazing." She seemed to sit up a little straighter and looked proud of her pumpkin painting. Oliver smiled as he continued his trip around the ballroom.

He stopped by Lady Evelyn, who his father had been speaking with earlier. He hadn't interacted with her much outside of a group setting, yet her eyes still lit up as he joined her. "Hey," he greeted her, "How's it going?"

"Great," she smiled. "This was a cool idea,' she added, nodding at her half-finished painting. "Was it your idea or you brothers'?"

Part of him wanted to take credit, but he wasn't sure if everyone thought it was cool or kind of cheesy. "It was a group effort," he admitted, "Sorry we haven't gotten to talk much alone. How's everything been going for you?"

"Oh, it's fine," she shrugged, "What about you? It seems a little overwhelming."

"Yeah," he laughed, "You could say that. I've never done anything like this."

She painting hand slowed as she leant her attention to him. "I'm sure it's hard too, splitting your time between dating and running a country," she noted.

"Yeah," he laughed in agreement, "It's definitely challenging. How lucky am I, thought? Who else gets to meet so many cool people this way?"

"Well, if you ever want to talk about any of those challenges or anything," she added as she dipped her brush into the paint again, "I'm here."

He felt a little unsettled by the offer, for some reason, but he smiled politely. "Thanks," he replied before he made his way towards Adelaide.

"Hey," he smiled softly. It was the first time he'd seen her since their tense moment after their impromptu hot tub date.

"Hi," she replied, looking a little unsure.

He glanced around at all of the eyes that were following him and lowered his voice a little. "I just wanted to see how you're doing," he explained.

Her face softened a little as she glanced up at him. "I'm really okay," she admitted, "Everything's been much better now that I've been here. You really don't have to worry about me."

"But I do," he countered.

She reached out and gave his hand a small squeeze. "Thank you," she smiled.

"When you're ready to talk, I'm here," he reminded her, returning the squeeze before he took a break from circulating to grab another glass of wine.

His mother joined him as he waited for his refill. "They're very sweet," she complimented. "All so different too."

"Yeah," he laughed, "KInda crazy how you end up with so many different personalities."

"You're doing a wonderful job, Oliver," she complimented as she sipped her own wine. "I really am proud of you. You're handling work and the process very well, and it seems like you've been very open to possibilities despite your initial objection."

Because of how close he'd always been with his mother, her praise was something that Oliver practically lived for. It wasn't often that she bestowed it, so he clung to those moments. "Thanks, Mom, that means a lot," he replied. "Just trying to find something like you and dad have." He glanced over to where his dad was talking with Margaery. It looked like he was telling her a story from his wild hand gestured, and Margaery was laughing so hard her paint brush had made wiggly marks on the canvas.

"I'm pretty confident you'll find your own special thing," his mother admitted with a knowing smile.

Oliver glanced around. "Yeah, me too."

His parents left shortly after that, and the room seemed to relax a little more. The girls were less quiet as they worked, a low buzz of conversation filling the room, and Oliver didn't feel so much like he was being watched as he traveled around.

Cutting the group by five girls had already made it more manageable, and he found that he was able to spend time with more of the girls without feeling overwhelmed. "Lady Esther," he greeted one of them. He had called her name first, but up until that pointed, he hadn't gotten to spend much time with her. "You're out of wine," he noted, "Want to come grab some with me?" He still had a full glass, but his neck was getting a little sore from looking down on all the girls as they sat and he stood.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she chirped as she collected her stemmed class and joined him.

"I'm sorry we haven't had much time to talk yet," he apologized, "How are you enjoying your time here so far?"

"It's incredible," she gushed, "I do miss my family, but the girls are all so nice."

He was glad to hear that she was getting along with the other girls. He didn't have much time for those who liked to cause drama or didn't get along with the others. "Are you close with your family?" he asked.

"Very," she nodded, "My parents died when I was younger, so my sister and I've lived with my aunt and uncle and their kids, but they're all younger, and we're pretty close."

He discovered that she lived on a farm with her aunt and uncle's family and asked a little bit about Hansport, embarrassed to admit that he hadn't been there in quite some time. She talked a lot, which Oliver didn't mind since it could be exhausting to be the one always talking. By the time they returned to her station, he felt like he knew her sister, Lilac, and her cousins, Coral, Mark, Jameson, and Maybell.

Tristan had made an interesting discovery in one of the files recently, so he sought out Cameron next. "Lady Cameron," he greeted her.

She looked thrilled to see him, as she was another that he hadn't had much time to talk with. "Your Majesty," she beamed excitedly.

"My brother was telling me that he believed you're related to one of the other Selected," he mentioned.

Although she tried to conceal it, her smile fell. "Uh, yes," she replied, seeming significantly less pleased, "Adelaide. It's just by marriage though, and we've never really spent time together."

A man with a little more sense might have dropped it based on her change in body language, but Oliver was a little bit of an idiot when it came to reading women's emotions. "Are you guys taking this opportunity to get close?" he asked excitedly, thinking of how nice it would be for Addie to have someone in her family to confide in.

"No," Cameron answered flatly, "We're very different."

He was a little taken aback by the scorn in her voice, and there was an awkward moment where he tried to think of what to say next. "Uh, so, what do you back home?"

She still didn't look as happy as before, although the topic had returned to herself. "My mother's a talk show host," she explained, "I'd like to get into something similar."

"Oh, cool," Oliver replied, "Any show that I might've heard of it?" She relayed the name of the show, and Oliver hadn't heard of it, which made him feel even more uncomfortable. He pretended to though, which made Cameron's eyes light up again, and he asked a few vague questions to strengthen his lie. He lingered for a few more minutes before he departed to talk with a few other girls.

He'd felt Lady Mae's eyes on him for some time, but to be honest, she intimidated him a little bit, and he finished his second glass of wine before he ventured over towards her. She was wearing a lacy white crop top that highlighted her cleavage perfectly and a long yellow skirt that kept it from being too risqué. Both colors highlighted her olive skin perfectly, and she was beautiful. "Lady Mae," he hailed.

She nodded, dark eyelashes fluttering. "Your Grace," she murmured.

"Oliver," he mumbled.

"How are you today, Oliver?" she asked with a sly smile, as though she was aware of the effect that she had on him.

He prayed that he sounded more assured than he felt when he spoke. "Great," he said in his usual voice. _Thank God._ She made him feel like a squeaky awkward boy going through puberty again. "You?"

Her paint brush made slow, languid strokes over the canvas, almost like she was caressing it. "Great," she echoed him, "This was a wonderful idea. I also had the pleasure of speaking with your mother. She's fantastic."

His mother. Thank god she had brought Eadlyn up. There was no way he could focus on how seductive Mae was when they were talking about his mother. "Yeah," he laughed, some of his usual confidence returning, "She's something. You should see her after a bottle of wine. Grandfather always jokes she would've ended the war in New Asia with one glare."

Mae laughed, and Oliver decided to stick with the confidence that he had somehow gathered. "I was thinking about our conversation at the pool party," he added.

"Oh?" She raised a dark eyebrow and focused her gaze on him.

"I don't know how interesting it is," he shrugged, "but I hate dancing. Not many people know that."

Mae did look surprised, which felt like a little triumph for Oliver. "You're so good at it though," she countered.

He appreciated the praise. "I always feel awkward," he shrugged.

"We should try to find a way to make dancing fun for you," she declared, her eyes twinkling.

Oliver smiled. "If you can do that, you're basically a genius," he retorted.

"I'll put my thinking cap on," she winked. She shifted so that her dark hair, which was gathered in a loose braid, fell over her shoulder to expose the smooth curve of her neck, and Oliver squeaked out an excuse to leave.

Kaitlyn was sitting nearby, and the predicament that she found herself in made Oliver laugh. Her mason jar of fireflies looked more like a melted candle, as apparently for all her sweetness, she was a terrible artist. "Don't laugh," she groaned good-naturedly as he approached. She seemed to be taking her completely lack of artistic talent in stride.

"Too much wine?" he teased.

"If only," she laughed, "That would at least give me a reason to be this bad. Unfortunately, this is only my first glass."

"It's not…"

"Don't say it," she countered, "There's no way you could possibly say 'it's not that bad' with a straight face. It looks like a frumpy basket, and the fireflies look like balls of fuzz."

He snorted. "Hey, at least it's a good exercise in interpretation," he pointed out. "Scoot over, maybe I can help you salvage it." She made room for him on the little bench, and they pressed together as he picked up a paint brush.

"At least I didn't pick any bird paintings," he noted, "You really would have had a heck of a time then."

She snorted into her wine. "The horror," she mocked in a self-deprecating manner.

He managed to give her melted, wobbly mason jar a little bit more structure, and she whistled. "Prince, bird whisperer, artist," she ticked off, "Is there anything you can't do, Oliver Woodwork?"

He grinned. "Quite a few things, I promise you," he countered. "Put me in one of your nursing classes, and I would look like a complete fool."

"Hey, being a nurse is partially bed side manner," she pointed out, "I think you'd do fine."

"Ah-ha!" he grinned triumphantly, "That's why I feel so comfortable around you. Your profession has trained you."

Kaitlyn laughed. "Yep," she confirmed, "It's just a big ruse. I'm gunning for palace nurse, in all actuality."

While he was sure that there were a few girls that were in the Selection because of what they could gain from it, he was sure that Kaitlyn was not one of them for all her joking. She made him feel comfortable and made him smile, and before he could help himself, he had declared, "Let's do something after _The Report_ this week. Just you and me."

"Okay," she agreed, looking excited.

"I'll think of something good," he promised as he rose, "You just try not to ruin that mason jar anymore."

"No promises," Kaitlyn called after him.

All in all, he felt like the day was a success.

He noticed that Cassandra and Ebony's paintings were also fantastic and complimented them profusely. Most of the girls seemed to be enjoying themselves, although he wasn't sure if it was the wine that was adding to that. He'd managed to at least have a short conversation with all of them by the end of the afternoon, noting that the paintings were a good way to keep everyone busy while they waited. He visited Isolde and his brother last, and saw that Tristan's painting was terrible, although Oliver felt like it was partially out of spite towards the pumpkin.

Everyone had almost left when he pulled Margaery aside. A few of the girls—Irina and Xylie, he noticed—glared at Margaery, but he ignored it as he took her hand. "Sorry I didn't get to spend much time with you," he apologized as he steered her towards the seat where he'd left his blazer and a small wrapped parcel.

"It's alright," she smiled, "I know there's a lot of us."

"I just wanted you to know that I've been thinking of you," he declared as he picked up the parcel and held it out to her.

"For me?" she asked, looking surprised. He nodded, and she ripped the paper away to reveal a picture frame. True to his word, the photographer from their date had delivered a copy of the photo of Oliver, Margaery, Phineas and the cubs, and Oliver had placed it in a simple rose gold picture frame. "Oliver…" She trailed off, her eyes shining as she looked up at him. "It's perfect. Thank you."

The look that she gave him made him feel like he could do anything. "You're welcome," he replied, although he really had the urge to thank her for being there with him and being so perfect. "I have a copy too," he admitted, thinking of how he'd placed the framed picture in a prominent place on his desk.

"The odds of me forgetting that day were pretty slim anyway, but now I definitely won't ever," she gushed as she smiled down at the picture once more.

"Me neither," he agreed. Their eyes met, and there was a slight pause where neither of them moved. "Uh, can I walk you back to your room?" Oliver asked finally.

She nodded, and he took her hand. They were about to leave the ballroom when Oliver realized that they were completely alone, not Jonathan to interrupt them this time. "Wait," he ordered as he stopped and pulled her hand so that she spun around into his chest. Before he could second guess himself, he kissed her.

It was well worth the wait.

Although she seemed a little surprised, the kiss was in no way unwelcome, and she quickly responded, her body fusing to his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. One of his hands tangled in her long hair at the base of her neck while the other gently rubbed her back. They were perfectly in sync, and Oliver felt like he probably could have kissed her forever if not for that pesky human need for air.

When they did part, chests heaving, it took one look for him to know that she was in agreement: it was a pretty amazing first real kiss. They took hands once more and walked in silence back to the Selected's floor, relishing in the secret of their kiss. Oliver stole one more quick kiss before they parted, and as he made his way to the boardroom to meet with his council, he was practically floating.

His date with Xylie was scheduled for the next morning after breakfast. The sun was high in the sky, and the air was warm when Xylie met him outside. She had dressed ready for activity as he instructed, clad in a pair of leggings that stopped mid-calf, an orange sports bra, and white tank top. Her hair was pulled into twin braids, and grey sneakers with orange laces. Although sunglasses shielded her eyes from him, her smile was wide, and she hugged him when he stood to meet her.

"Hi," he laughed as he wrapped his arms around her in return. "How are you?"

When he released her, he realized just how tiny she was. The tallest that she could be was 5 feet tall, and Oliver literally towered over her. "I'm great," she beamed up at him, "So what's the plan for the day?"

"I thought we'd do a triathlon," Oliver explained with a casual shrug. He couldn't see whether her eyes bulged behind her sunglasses, but she did cock her head to the side slightly as though confused. "I remembered that you said you were into sports, so I figured it'd be fun."

"Uh, sure," she smiled, pasting a smile onto her face. "I might die, but no big deal."

He laughed. "Don't worry," he countered, "I modified our triathlon a little bit."

She visibly exhaled in relief, and Oliver offered a hand to her, which she accepted. He led her around the corner of the castle where two bikes were waiting for them. "So," he began, "Three laps around the castle, followed by three games of Connect Four, and concluded with who has the best three shots at the archery range."

There was no masking the excitement and competitiveness in Xylie's face. "You are so on," she declared as she grabbed the smaller of the two bikes.

Oliver had been prepared to breeze past her in the bicycle race because of how much longer his legs were, but Xylie pedaled like a demon, her legs two blurs as she sped around the castle. In the end, Oliver told himself that he let her win by a few inches, and it was the story that he was sticking to in order to protect his wounded masculinity. It was necessary as she teased him mercilessly and demanded a piggy back ride as her prize as they made their way to the Connect Four set up.

He found that Xylie wasn't very good at the game, as she was often too impatient to fully inspect all of the possibilities on the board before she used her turn. He beat her easily the first time and paced the second game a little slower so that they had time to talk.

"Tell me about Xylie," he requested as he dropped one of his pieces into the cage.

"What do you want to know?" she asked as her eyes swept the set up quickly before she played her own piece.

"Got any friends?" he asked.

She laughed. "Of course," she replied, "My best friend's name is Emma. We've played soccer together forever and claimed to be twins separated at birth when we were younger." The memory seemed to make her smile.

Oliver dropped his next token. "Siblings?"

A slight frown pulled at Xylie's mouth before she concealed it. She pretended to be extra focused on the game, although Oliver knew it couldn't be the case, for her next move enabled him to win. "I was adopted," she explained, "But I've got three adoptive sisters."

"Are you close at all?" Oliver asked as he purposefully ignored his winning move.

"Not really," shrugged Xylie. She dropped another circular game piece and pressed her lips firmly together, as though refusing to say more.

"What made you enter the Selection?" he asked. He ignored another winning move, hoping to draw their conversation out a little longer.

Xylie played her next piece, setting up another way for Oliver to win. He almost wondered if she was color blind, she was so terrible at the game. "A new start," she declared.

"Well, you've come to the right place," he chuckled as he finally ended the game, unable to ignore all the possible ways he could win any longer. "So, does this mean that I get a piggy back ride to the archery range?"

He almost regretted his joke, for she insisted on trying for a solid two minutes, during which Oliver had never felt fatter in his life. Every time he so much as leaned on her, her legs shook with strain. He was just too huge for her tiny frame. Finally, they gave up, and somehow, Oliver ended up carrying her once more to the archery area.

"Ever shot a bow and arrow?" he asked as she picked up one of the bows and pulled at the string.

"No, but it looks cool," she grinned. She grabbed an arrow and tried to notch it. Oliver laughed when it slid down, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Here, let me help," he offered as he joined her. He helped her line up her feet properly, notched the arrow for her, and then instructed her to pull back. As he coaxed her arms into the proper positions, she looked excited. Apparently, her enthusiasm was too much for her, and she let go of the arrow a little early, causing it to sink into the outside of the second circle on the target.

"Not bad for your first time," Oliver insisted.

"Show me how it's done, Your Highness," Xylie ordered teasingly. He smirked and grabbed his own bow, fully intending to. Before he let the arrow soar, she gasped and pointed, "What's that?!" She startled him so badly that Oliver missed the target all together.

He laughed when he glanced around and realized that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. "I guess that's pay back for the millions of times I've used that one on my brother," he concluded.

She smiled innocently before she grabbed her second arrow. This one did slightly better but still managed to evade the bullseye. "You just have to take a little more time on the set up," Oliver told her, "I don't think I've ever met anyone more impatient than me."

Xylie grinned in a self-deprecating manner. "That has never been my strong suit," she admitted.

She let Oliver take his shot unbothered this time, and the arrow landed just a few inches shy of the bullseye. She turned determinedly to her own target and seemed to keep his words in mind, for she relaxed her body into the positions that he had shown her the first time. After a deep breath, she released the arrow, and it landed right in the center of the target. Her mouth fell open. "I did it!"

In her excitement, she dropped her bow to the ground and threw her arms around Oliver's neck. She weighed practically nothing, and he swung her in a circle. "See, I told you," he grinned, "Just a little patience."

"You're a great teacher," she declared with a warm smile. He was starting to realize that not all of her smiles were genuine, but when they were, it made his pulse quicken and made all the phonies worth it.

He focused his attention on his last shot, this time landing on the inside of the bullseye but not quite as centered as Xylie's. She threw her arms in the air in celebration. "Ladies and gentlemen," she declared to no one, "Prince Oliver has officially had his butt kicked."

"Beginner's luck," he teased.

"Well, we'll just have to have a repeat and find out, won't we?" she challenged, grinning playfully at him.

"I'll have my rematch," he declared, and her smile widened, because it was some kind of reassurance that she would be remaining in the competition. She didn't request a piggy back ride as they started back to the palace, instead just slipping her small hand into his. Oliver laced his fingers with hers.

"So, rumor has it there's some post triathlon ice cream in the kitchen," he divulged, "Are you in?"

"Of course."

They settled at the island in the kitchen as Oliver procured a carton of mint chocolate chip and two spoons. "If my mom asks who was eating from the carton, it wasn't us," he declared as he dipped his spoon into the ice cream.

Xylie gasped in mock shock. "I can't deceive my sovereign, Oliver," she scolded him.

"You're on orders from the crown prince," he pointed out.

"True," she considered, "I suppose that's good enough."

"So, how do you like the Selection so far?" he asked, "Have you made any friends or anything?"

She took a bite of ice cream before she replied. "I love being here," she explained, "I mean, sitting in your kitchen eating ice cream with _you_?" Xylie smiled. "Pretty incredible."

Although he was glad to hear it, he noticed the way she evaded the question about the other girls. "Anyone you hang out with when we're not eating ice cream in the kitchen?"

"I've played soccer with Madi a few times," she answered briefly. "The better question is," she continued, "what do _you_ do when you're not entertaining thirty girlfriends?"

It was strange to think of them all as his girlfriends. "Boring stuff, usually," he admitted, "Budgets, war strategizing, social services, et cetera. Basically whatever my mom tells me to do."

"Thrilling," she smirked.

It didn't take them long to finish the small pint of ice cream, and afterwards, Oliver walked her to the Selected floor before he decided to head up to his room and see if he could sneak in a nap. He had a date with Rosalie the following day to prepare for, but he figured that a few hours of sleep would help to get his creativity back up. He was sorely disappointed when Anderson informed him that a letter from his mother had come in his absence, and he opened it as he kicked off his tennis shoes.

 _We need to talk asap._

He groaned. He wasn't sure what he'd done now, but he wasn't exactly excited as he left his room in search of his mother.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Hello everyone. Sorry this took forever, but I struggled a little with it. There's lots of cheesiness and sibling bonding so enjoy! The next part will probably be out Saturday/Sunday.

* * *

Oliver stared at the screen, arms crossed and expression hard. He felt a little sick to his stomach, and he was ninety percent sure it wasn't because of the ice cream that he and Xylie had eaten.

When he had found his mother after the note that Anderson delivered, she had instructed him to sit down and then turned on the television in her study. Plastered upon nearly every news station in Illéa was a video of his kiss with Margaery the previous day, recorded from the crack of the slightly ajar door to the ballroom. At the bottom of the screen was a newsflash: "Has the Prince Already Chosen the One?"

And Oliver was _pissed_.

Eadlyn glanced up at her son, her own expression contrite. "Your father's having a firm conversation with the media as we speak," she explained. "I don't know how this happened, but we'll be sure to have a guard accompany them while in the palace in the future. They know that they're not supposed to broadcast moments like this."

Oliver stared at himself on screen once more, Margaery pressed against him. What had once been a beautiful, intimate moment had been turned into a huge invasion of both of their privacy, one that would probably hurt the other Selected as well. It was one thing to know that Oliver was having multiple relationships. It was another to _see_ it.

Finally, he grabbed the remote and turned it off. "What am I doing wrong?" he demanded, turning to his mother. "I was having too much fun, so we had a Selection. Now, I'm actually trying to find someone to marry, and it's still not enough."

Eadlyn looked pained. "I know," she sighed, "I'm sorry, Oliver. If I knew what to tell you to make things easier, darling…"

He leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. "They're going to hate me," he mumbled.

"I think it's best not to address it with the girls," she advised.

"Finally, my tactic of avoiding things comes in handy," he quipped, although neither of them laughed.

"A few will likely be upset," allowed Eadlyn, "but you're right. You're going to marry one of these girls. It's important that you find the right one."

As Oliver considered his mom's words, a frown rose on his face. "Why do I feel like there's a 'but'?"

Eadlyn looked apologetic. "Maybe it is a good idea if you and Lady Margaery spend a little less time together," she sighed. She noticed the anger that sprang to his eyes, and before he could argue, she held up a hand to silence him. "Just for the time being. She's lovely, and it's obvious that you like her, but there are some girls that you haven't spoken to much. You tend to fixate, darling."

"Is that an order?" he asked, his jaw clenched.

She patted his shoulder. "Just the suggestion of a concerned mother," she countered, "Unless, of course, you have already chosen the One."

It was something that didn't even seem plausible. The girls had only been there for two weeks. "Of course I haven't," he shot back hotly. "I have a date to plan and a governmental infrastructure report to read, if that's all."

She sighed but allowed him to leave. Oliver stomped from the room with his temper still high, and he wanted to drop to the floor and just give up for the day when he heard his sister call his name. "I've been trying to find time to talk to you for _days_ ," huffed Celine as she caught up with him.

"What is it, Celine?" he asked flatly as he continued on his way to his room, not slowing his pace at all.

"I've been spying like you told me," she declared proudly, "And there's something I wanted to tell you." She glanced up and seemed to notice that he looked annoyed. "Hey," she caught his arm and stopped him, "are you okay?"

He examined his younger sister's face and sighed. There'd been many times throughout his life that he'd wished that he was fourteen and Celine or Tristan were the ones in training to be king or queen. But there were also times where he realized that Celine was always just trying to keep up with her brothers, trying to be included, and he wasn't sure if it was already because he was in an awful mood, but he suddenly felt guilty. "Sorry," he offered, "Hasn't been the best day."

Celine's face lit up, and Oliver already knew what she was thinking before she said it. "Roof?" she suggested with a sly grin.

It was their little tradition, something that they often did to cheer each other up when one of them were having a bad day. Oliver hadn't had much time to spend with Celine since he'd been abroad for most of the summer, and suddenly, he realized it was exactly what he needed. "I'll get the balloons if you get the provisions," he declared. She nodded, and they took off in their respective directions.

Twenty minutes later, they reconvened on the roof. Celine had brought a bag of potato chips and French onion chip dip, and Oliver had heaved a bucket full of water balloons onto the roof of the palace. They plopped themselves down, and Oliver picked up the first balloon. "This is for all the stupid cameras in the world," he frowned as he tossed it lightly into the air a few times. "I'm gonna hit that buttress over there."

"Do it!" urged Celine excitedly.

Oliver aimed it at the aforementioned outcropping and launched the water balloon at it. It exploded with a satisfying smack. "Anything bothering you?" he asked Celine as he grabbed a handful of chips and dunked them into the dip.

She picked up her own balloon. "For my German tutoring lessons." She made a face at the thought and sent the balloon careening into the grounds. They watched as it became a smaller red dot and then imploded on contact with the stone ground.

Oliver kept his targets closer, throwing with a little more force to work some of the anger out. More perceptive than he ever gave her credit for, Celine asked, "This is about the video with Lady Margaery, huh?"

He cringed. "You saw that?"

"Tristan and Everly turned on the news, and it was just sort of there," she explained. "Why are you mad? You like her, don't you?"

Great, relationship talk with his little sister. "Yeah," he admitted as he grabbed more chips, "but I like some of the other girls, too. I'm also just really tired of people always being in my business and being so critical."

Celine dropped another balloon over the ledge of the roof, staring as it slowly faded. They both waited for the watery splat before they spoke again. "I think it means they care about you," she declared. He thought it was kind of a naïve sentiment, but he didn't argue. They cared about what he did, that much was for sure.

"So, what has your spying uncovered, Sherlock Holmes?" he asked as he lofted another balloon towards a stone bench in the garden below them.

"For the most part, they seem nice," she responded vaguely. He had a feeling that she had something more to tell him earlier, but his dour mood must have made her reconsider. "There are a few girls that don't get along as well with the others. Cameron snaps at people sometimes, and Irina and Molly can be kind of mean."

"Molly?" he asked, a little surprised that the girl who was always making a mess could be mean.

"I think she just thinks she's better than everyone else," explained Celine. "I guess 'clueless' would be better than mean."

Oliver made a mental note to keep that in mind. "Hey, help me figure out what to do on my date with Rosalie tomorrow," he urged, "You can be an honorary member of the Selection Council."

Celine took to her new position with gusto, and as they emptied the rest of the water balloons onto the palace and grounds, they managed to form a pretty good plan, he thought. It would require making a lot of calls for the rest of the day to ensure that all of the security clearances were in order, but he figured it would be worth it. "Thanks, Cel," he said as he dropped an arm around her shoulders as they walked back through the royal family's floor. "I feel a lot better."

"I have that effect on people," she grinned. "Don't forget, you said I could come to the next Selection Council meeting. And I want a chair _at_ the table."

He laughed. "Of course," he agreed. They did a fist bump before Celine skipped off to her room, looking excited about her new role (honorary or not).

Oliver returned to his own room as well and immediately grabbed a bottle of bourbon from his liquor cabinet before he grabbed the infrastructure report allocated to him by his mother and headed to his study to get some work done while he tried to get in contact with all the necessary people for tomorrow. He was starting to feel like an actual, responsible prince, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Or he was until he got a little too tipsy off the bourbon and called Tristan in to finish the calls.

When he woke up the next morning—with a small headache as a result of the bourbon, he realized ruefully—he didn't quite feel ready to face all of the girls at breakfast. He wasn't sure if they'd seen the video, but it wasn't quite a risk that he was willing to take. So instead, he choked down some aspirin to help with the headache and headed to Rosalie's room a little earlier than planned.

She answered her door herself and looked surprised by Oliver's appearance. "We had a date today, right?" he joked with a grin. She almost completely ready, dressed in a white dress with a large floral print that brushed just below her knees. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a fun but sensible ponytail, and she pushed her dark framed glasses up her nose as she tried to hide the fact that she only had one of her white heeled sandals on.

Rosalie blushed deeply but chuckled. "Yes," she nodded, "I just, uh, your note said eleven thirty."

It was Oliver's turn to blush. He knew it was rude to show up early, but he had hoped that she would appreciate his spontaneity (and not realize that it was fueled by cowardice). "I know a really great coffee place that I thought we could check out," he explained, "Sorry, I meant to send you a note last night, but I…" Got drunk, "Forgot."

She relaxed a little, a smile dancing across her lips. "That's fine," she assured him, "You can come in. I just need to find my other shoe." She hobbled back from the doorway, and Oliver stepped in.

"Where are your maids?" he asked as he glanced around at the empty room. Each girl had three, and they were supposed to help them with basic things, such as finding shoes.

She blushed a little. "They're really sweet," she admitted, "But they're a little more fashion forward than I am." She gestured to a pair of pink shoes with a high, thin heel that matched one of the shades of flower on her dress. "The odds of injury are a little too high for me." He didn't blame her. The white shoes she was wearing looked infinitely more manageable.

A few minutes later, she returned with the missing shoe and a pair of sparkly blue earrings that brought out the color of her eyes. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded in confirmation, and the two started for the palace doors.

As they sat in the back of the black car and drove through Angeles, he texted Tristan and Elijah and asked for breakfast suggestions. Elijah had reminded him of their favorite diner that served perfectly greasy potatoes and omelets that they swore were magical hangover cures, but he figured that Tristan's suggestion of a bed and breakfast that their Aunt Camille adored would be more Rosalie's speed.

When Oliver suggested the bed and breakfast, Jonathan shot him an annoyed look since they hadn't been able to prepare the proper security measures the day before, but Oliver simply shrugged. Anything would have been safer than breakfast with the Selected at the moment. They had to sit in the car while his security team scouted the place, which Rosalie looked a little amused by.

"Is this what a typical outing entails?" she asked as she watched the security team scour the bed and breakfast like it was a minefield.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Usually they do all of this stuff the day before, but this was kind of a last minute decision." He watched Rosalie's expression for a moment. One of his biggest fears was that the girls would see how difficult it was for the royal family to do regular things and decide they didn't want to live the rest of their lives that way. But she simply gave a nod and turned her eager gaze back to the scene outside her window.

When they were finally ushered into the restaurant, the owner met them at their table and excitedly greeted them, numerous bows directed both at Oliver and Rosalie. She did seem a little overwhelmed by this treatment, but Oliver, used to such responses, simply waited with an amused smile until the small older man's speech about how it would be his pleasure to get them anything they desired was over.

"This is my Aunt Camille's favorite place to visit when she's in Angeles," he noted as they looked over the menu.

"It's beautiful," Rosalie agreed as her eyes swept over the décor. The restaurant portion of the bed and breakfast was located in the large manor's sun room, and the expansive windows gave a pleasant view of a well cultivated garden. It had an elegant country cottage feel, even down to the mismatched China place settings.

After they'd placed their orders, Oliver turned his attention to Rosalie. "So, tell me something about yourself," he urged. The threat of a headache still loomed, and he was hoping that breakfast would give him time to return to full strength.

She looked nervous. "Anything in particular you were wondering?" she asked.

He supposed it was a vague question, and he added, "What's your family like?"

"It's just me and my dad," she explained, "But he's great. We're really close."

He hadn't really noticed it at first, but it seemed like many of the Selected were missing some member of their family, and it made Oliver a little more thankful for his. Even on days when he felt a ton of pressure from his mom or wanted to ban Tristan to New Asia, he knew they would all be there for him no matter what. "What's your father do?" he continued.

"He's a painter," Rosalie explained with a smile.

"Oh, cool," Oliver grinned. "Did you get any of his talent? You seemed to enjoy the paint and sip."

"It was fun," she replied, "but I'm nowhere near as good as him. Theater has always been more of my area."

Oliver grinned as he thought about how well tailored their date was for her. He almost told her about it, but he stopped himself. Surprises were one of his favorite things. "What do you like the most about theater?"

She shrugged her small shoulders. He'd noticed that she was quite curvy, but she seemed to try to play it down, so he worked to keep his eyes away from her ample chest and focused on her face. "I'm not really outgoing normally," she admitted, "but I'm not as nervous on stage."

He was excited to see that side of her. "Have you made any friends in the Selection so far?" Their food arrived, and he cut into his omelet with gusto, a little disappointed that it lacked the same amount of grease as the place that Elijah had suggested.

She nodded. "Presley and Kaitlyn are really nice. Kaitlyn's got the room next to mine, so we hang out a lot," she explained, "And mostly everyone likes Isolde." _How shocking_ , Oliver thought sarcastically. He was glad to hear it though. If nothing else, maybe Isolde's friendships with the other girls would deter her from exercising the option to leave that Oliver had given her.

Their conversation over breakfast was easy. Although Rosalie was a little shyer, it didn't make her bad at conversation, and he liked that she asked him questions too. He suspected it was to give herself a break from being the center of attention, but it made conversations seem less like work.

Once they'd left the bed and breakfast and set out for their ultimate destination, Oliver began to give her a little more context on the day. "So, there's this summer program for children that I usually work with every summer," he began. "It focuses on the arts, and the children are generally from poorer areas of Angeles. I missed most of it this summer while I was in Europe though."

"That sounds amazing," Rosalie noted. "My dad came from a family of Eights, so he's always made giving back a priority for us."

He was surprised by her revelation about her father and would have asked about it had the car not slowed in front of the old theater where the program always took place a moment later. Oliver added, "The kids will actually come to the palace and perform the show for the royal family and their guests—which includes the Selected this year—on Saturday, but today's their dress rehearsal, so I thought we'd stop by and help out."

The program administrator was an older woman named Natalie who had directed larger stage productions in her prime. She met Oliver and Rosalie at the door of the theater, her face as eager as always. "So glad you could join us today, Your Highness," she told Oliver. "And this must be Lady Rosalie."

"Yep," Oliver confirmed, "Rosalie's actually an actress herself so I thought that she'd like to check it out." Rosalie smiled shyly at his side.

Natalie shared a little more background on the program while she led them backstage. Oliver was a little embarrassed when she explained that he had inaugurated it after he had seen the Royal Theater troupe perform _A Christmas Carol_ , but Rosalie turned an approving gaze on him that made it bother him less. She told Rosalie about the acting exercises that they did over the summer, how the kids ranged from eight to fourteen, and about their rigorous rehearsal schedule.

"It sounds incredible," Rosalie declared wistfully, "If only there were something like this in every province for kids."

Natalie nodded her agreement. "I'd love to be able to expand one day."

"Oliver!"

The trio turned to see a small body dart out from one of the nearby dressing rooms and barrel towards Oliver, who dropped to a knee and opened his arms wide to receive the proffered embrace. He noticed Rosalie's eyes were intent on him as he hugged the young girl, and he stood to introduce her. "Lady Rosalie, if I may introduce our star," he grinned, gesturing to the girl who was standing beside him, "Miss Thalia Beaufort."

Thalia curtsied, and Rosalie smiled as she returned the gesture. "What a pleasure to meet you," Rosalie replied.

Oliver mused Thalia's hair earning a glare. "Thalia's been with us since the program's inception four years ago," he explained, "She was only eight then. This will be her last summer with us, though, right?" Oliver grinned down at the young girl, who blushed.

Rosalie's brow furrowed. "Why won't you be staying until you're fourteen?" she asked. Oliver was glad to see she'd been paying attention when Natalie had explained the program.

"Go on, tell them," Oliver urged with an excited grin.

Thalia looked nervous, although she raised her chin to steel herself. "Oliver helped me get an audition," she explained, "with the Royal Theater troupe."

Rosalie raised her eyebrows, obviously aware of what an honor it was. Natalie gazed proudly at the young girl. "Thalia is certainly one of our most talented," she confirmed.

The door of the dressing room that Thalia had emerged from opened once more, and a blonde head appeared. "Thalia, where are you—" The girl stopped. "Prince Oliver is here!" And soon, kids were pouring into the backstage area, all clamoring to hail their royal patron. Oliver took it in stride, responding to hugs, high fives, and excited greetings. "What's the play this year?" Oliver asked.

" _Beauty and the Beast_ ," Thalia pronounced. A sly smirk lit up her face and she added, "Kind of reminds me of you and the Selected now that I think of it."

Oliver rolled his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders to turn her back towards her dressing room. "That's enough from you," he decided, "Go finish getting ready, Lady Rosalie expects to see a play."

Natalie nodded in agreement. "Everyone back to your stations," she ordered, "We've got a dress rehearsal to run and some important guests to impress." The children's excited buzz didn't die down, but the group surrounding them dispersed as they rushed away to their positions.

Oliver took Rosalie's hand. "Come on," he instructed, "I've got the best seats in the house."

Instead of leading her to one of the wizened boxes at the edges of the theater, they climbed a flight of stairs directly to the top of the theater. Oliver stopped in front of an old door that featured a sign proclaiming "staff only" and unlocked it.

Inside were numerous switches and controls. "Lights and sound," Oliver explained, "This is usually my area of expertise. I'm terrible with the acting or singing." He took a seat in the center chair, and Rosalie settled in the seat beside him.

She was silent for a minute as she watched Oliver start to rest lights and the speakers. After a moment, he noticed the way she was watching him and glanced over. "What?" he asked, a little amused by her attention.

"This is incredible," she answered. "What you do for these kids…" She gave a small shake of her head, as though still in disbelief. "It's obvious they adore you."

He was a little embarrassed by the praise but he shrugged. "Most of them don't have the best home lives," he explained, "I like to think that this impacts their lives in some way."

"Like Thalia?" she asked.

Oliver nodded. "Her dad was arrested a few years before she joined the group, and her mom's been an alcoholic for most of her life," he explained, "We keep in touch year round, and when I heard troupe was holding auditions, I knew she had to apply. It could change her life." He paused, his eyes focused on the stage as he fired up the spotlight. "She's young, but wait till you see her. She's incredible."

Rosalie turned an excited gaze to the stage. "I can't wait."

"How'd you get into acting?" Oliver asked as he leaned back in his seat and turned his attention fully to Rosalie.

She took a moment to think about it before she responded. "I don't really have a lot of friends back home," she explained, "Acting has always been a way to escape that. I can be anyone, and some days…" She gave a shrug of her small shoulders. "Some days that seems better than being Rosalie."

It made him strangely sad to hear her say that she used it as an escape. He hadn't known Rosalie for very long, but she seemed incredibly sweet, and he couldn't imagine why on earth people would dislike her. He reached out and took her hand. "I can't think of anyone I would want to be here with me more than Rosalie," he declared in an attempt to strengthen her confidence.

Although she blushed, she seemed a little emboldened by his reassurance. "I'm really glad I'm here," she explained in a soft voice. "I sort of did this to push myself out of my comfort zone, but you're a lot… more than I ever imagined."

And suddenly, Oliver didn't know who was helping who. To hear someone like Rosalie, someone so obviously _good_ , speak so approvingly of him momentarily caused him to forget about the stress that he'd been under since the video of Margaery had come to light.

The music cued the start of the play, and Oliver turned the lights up. Although they both focused on the play, neither made a move to loosen the grip that their hands on each other throughout the duration of the show. He glanced at Rosalie several times throughout the play and saw that she looked awed and enthusiastic, exactly as he had hoped she would. After the final curtain calls, she practically dragged him down to the stage to congratulate the young cast.

Finally, when the theater was empty and quiet, Oliver released her and took a step away. "Will you show me something?" he asked, nodding at the stage.

It only took her a moment of consideration before she began to climb the stairs to the stage. He'd had a feeling that she had been a little wistful throughout the play and missed performing herself. "I can sing something," she offered, "My go-to is usually 'On My Own' from _Les Misérables._ "

"Wow me," Oliver instructed as he settled into a seat directly in front of her.

And she did. Oliver was completely unable to take his eyes off of her a little surprised by how confident and sure of herself she seemed. There was no sign of shyness or doubt, and she was captivating. Her song was heartbreaking, and she was so convincing that Oliver felt the precursory sting of tears in his nose.

"You're incredible," Oliver told her as she took a seat at the edge of the stage, her legs dangling over the edge.

She smiled as Oliver stepped closer. "Thank you," she beamed, "For everything. This day… honestly, it's the most comfortable I've felt since this whole process started."

"I'm glad," Oliver responded. "Unfortunately, we sort of have to get back to the palace and reality." Rosalie made a face, but she let Oliver help her jump down from the stage, and she smiled a little wider when Oliver draped an arm around her shoulders on their way back to the car.

When they returned to the palace, Oliver was glad to find that they'd missed dinner, which meant he would be able to avoid the girls a little longer. He offered to have something sent up for Rosalie and headed down to the kitchen in order to grab something himself. Once a tray was being prepared for Rosalie, Oliver grabbed some leftover steak salad and headed to the living room where he and Isolde had watched _Finding Neverland_. He figured a comedy might take his mind off the lingering fear that the girls probably hated him.

He was surprised to find the room already occupied and briefly considered slinking away since he hadn't been spotted until he realized who it was. Mae was sitting on the couch with her legs collected under her, dressed in a casual black dress and a gray cardigan. Her hair was collected in a messy bun on top of her head, and she looked far more relaxed than Oliver had seen her yet.

"Lady Mae."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, having been thoroughly engrossed in her movie. A light blush tinged her cheeks as she turned to face him. "Your Majesty," she replied with a small smile. "I'm sorry, if I'm not supposed to be here, I can—"

He shrugged off the apology and joined her on the couch, most of his attention focused on his salad. "What are you watching?" he asked.

The color in her cheeks deepened. " _Dirty Dancing_ ," she admitted.

Oliver snorted as he glanced up at the screen. "How intellectually stimulating."

"Hey," countered Mae, her eyes still glued to the television, "it's a good movie."

"I've never watched it," Oliver admitted, "My mom's a fan, though." It seemed like the movie was beginning to culminate in its climax as the two main characters said goodbye in the rain with a sad ballad playing in the background. "Why, I have no clue." Mae shushed him.

Oliver tried to keep his critiques to himself as he ate his salad. They'd almost made it to the end without incident when he had to laugh at the final dance. Mae looked scandalized. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"This whole thing," he snickered, "The music, their outfits, the _dance_. God, this is horrible."

"People love this movie," Mae retorted defensively, "It's a _classic_."

He held his hands up defensively. "I just don't see the big deal," he admitted, "It's not even like it's a hard dance."

It was her turn to smirk at him. "That's rich," she noted, "considering how much you hate dancing."

"Hey," Oliver countered. He rolled his eyes as he watched the male lead jump off the stage. "Just because I hate it doesn't mean that I don't have basic rhythm." He could tell that she wasn't quite listening to him and turned his attention back to the screen. The girl on screen ran at her partner, and he lifted her into the air to a chorus of cheers from the audience. "Oh, come on, _really_?" Oliver laughed.

"It's _sweet_ ," Mae insisted.

"It's a basic show trick," Oliver argued with a roll of his eyes. "We could do that right now." Mae laughed dismissively, which caused Oliver to frown. He was _obviously_ in much better shape than the actor. "Come on," he urged her as he set his salad aside despite his hunger.

It was the first time she hadn't seemed overly confident and collected around him. "No," she laughed disbelievingly, "That's crazy. You'll drop me."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. "So let's try it outside by the pool," he offered, "Don't they start in a lake in the movie?"

"I thought you'd said you'd never seen it?" grinned Mae as she allowed him to drag her towards the gardens.

"I may have caught bits and pieces," Oliver shrugged.

The sky was already dark, but luckily, the strings of fairy lights by the pool were turned on, and the lights beneath the pool were on. "This is crazy," Mae informed him once again as he took a step close enough to the edge of the pool that they would just fall into the deep end if he mismanaged the lift.

"I thought it was _sweet_ ," he teased.

She rolled her eyes and pulled at the bun on the top of her head to make sure it was secure. For all of her difficulty, Oliver could tell that she was a little excited to try it out. "Ready?" he asked.

Mae shook her head. "Give me your cell phone," she ordered as she stuck her hand out.

Oliver frowned as he pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to her. He wasn't used to anyone telling him what to do in any way, but he strangely liked Mae's assertiveness. Her fingers danced over the phone screen for a few minutes before the same cheesy song as in the movie started playing. He started to tease her about it, but she gave a happy smile and shrugged. "Might as well fully commit, right?"

As they stared at each other, it seemed like they were both aware of how ridiculous they were being but neither minded very much. Oliver planted his feet firmly and took a deep breath. "Ready?"

Mae's eyes locked on his. "Ready." And then, she raced towards him. His hands grabbed her waist, and with little effort—she really wasn't that heavy—he lifted her high into the air. Her arms extended to steady herself, and when she glanced down at him, she looked more genuinely happy than he had seen her yet, and it only made her that much more beautiful.

And then neither of them seemed very concerned with the silliness of the situation anymore, and as Oliver returned her to the ground, neither made a move to put any space between them. Mae was staring at him like it was the first time that she had ever seen Oliver, and he kept his arms wrapped around her, a million thoughts swirling around in his head.

But despite everything that he was thinking, all Oliver said was, "Told you I could do it."

It seemed to pull her out of her reverie, and he wanted to kick himself when she stepped away. She wandered over to the chair that she had dropped his cell phone on and picked it up to turn the music off. "We should get back," she admitted as she nodded at the castle.

He nodded and followed her lead. "Can I ask you something?" he began somewhat nervously as the palace grew closer.

"You just did," she winked. But she was silent, which he took as his cue.

"Have you seen the video?"

He didn't have to clarify, as they both knew that he was talking about his kiss with Margaery. Despite everything that had happened that day, Oliver was still concerned about the impact it would have on his other relationships, and it was the sole reason he hadn't kissed Mae after the ridiculous lift.

"Of course," Mae confirmed, and Oliver's stomach sank. "We all have. Some of the girls are not being very kind to her, though I suspect it has more to do with the gift that you gave her rather than the kiss, strangely enough."

"Some?" Oliver asked, obviously wondering whether Mae was part of that group.

"I know what it's like to be judged because of your relationships," Mae explained carefully. "I wouldn't do that to another girl. I've been spending time with her since it came out."

It was strange for Oliver to imagine two girls that he liked being friends, but he figured if there was anyone for Margaery to have in her corner, Mae was certainly a good pick. "So, you're not jealous?" he continued.

She laughed lightly. "If you're trying to determine whether I want to kiss you, Your Majesty," she smirked as she turned around to face him, "Of course I do."

Although they were more exposed than he had been when he'd kissed Margaery, Oliver didn't worry about it. Nor did he allow his anxiety about who might see hold him back in any way. One arm snaked around her waist to pull her firmly to him—she giggled a little, which he didn't expect but thought was cute—and pushed some straggling pieces of hair away from her face with the other before he tilted her jaw up to meet his.

And then—fireworks.

All of the nervousness that he felt around Mae suddenly made sense. From the moment that their lips touched, he had a feeling that he was going to be in trouble. He wasn't sure how it was possible since he'd only met her two weeks ago, but he _liked_ Mae. She made him feel like a kid with his first crush again.

He almost objected when she pulled back, but in an attempt to retain some kind of dignity, he repressed it and instead settled with keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. He was glad that she didn't have any clever witticism to impart either, and the pair stood still with their foreheads resting together.

"We should get back," Mae whispered softly after a few minutes.

Oliver was prepared to declare that he didn't want to, but in an effort to not sound like a child, he simply nodded his agreement and offered his arm to her. She took it, staying close to him, and they walked in silence, like each of them was working to absorb and sort out their feelings. Oliver left her at the door to her room and returned to his own quarters with his head spinning, his abandoned steak salad completely forgotten.

Despite the amazing day that he'd had with Rosalie and Mae, Oliver wasn't sure that he had ever dreaded a Friday so much. There was no way that his mother was going to allow him to miss breakfast two days in a row, so he made sure to be up early enough to catch Everly, Elijah, and Tristan before they went to the dining hall. It was a good decision, as every eye in the room fell on him as soon as the doors opened.

"Wow, never felt so popular," smirked Elijah. Oliver tried to laugh, but the sound didn't quite make it out.

"Good morning," he offered, trying to lace his voice with confidence. It worked slightly better than the laugh, and a few girls mumbled replies. Despite his mother's suggestion, he locked eyes with Margaery and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He was still bothered by what Mae had told him last night about the treatment that Margaery had received after the video.

His parents were surprisingly helpful throughout breakfast, and they kept the conversation moving. The engaged with the girls and managed to keep the topic clear of the video while ensuring that Oliver didn't have to add much. It allowed him to relax somewhat and gave him a chance to gather himself.

There would be another elimination before _The Report_ that evening. He'd been thinking of girls that he'd struggled to have conversation with during the larger group events and didn't seem to think of whenever they were out of sight. But as he scanned the table, there were a few girls that looked a little more hostile towards him since the video's exposure, and he figured it might be a good idea to have a brief discussion with some of them.

As soon as he finished eating, he stood. "I'm going to be in the library in the wing where _The Report_ is filmed for the next hour," he declared, "If anyone wishes to speak with me about their involvement in the Selection as a result of anything that has happened this week, please come do so. After that, we will all move forward."

They'd looked surprised by his announcement, as it was against the rules to seek the prince out, but Oliver preferred discussion to passive aggression (that was more Tristan's speed). He grabbed a random book off a nearby shelf— _To Kill a Mockingbird_ —and dropped into one of the plush armchairs of the library to wait out the hour.

He wasn't surprised when Melody walked into the library. "Lady Melody," he frowned as he set his book aside.

She took a seat in the armchair beside him. Her face looked conflicted. "I think I want to go home," she admitted as she stared at the ground.

Although he and Melody weren't extremely close, it wasn't something that he wanted to hear from any of the Selected. "Because of the thing with Margaery?" he asked.

Melody glanced up at him. "Sort of," she nodded, "It's more just…. Well, you in general."

Instantly, his face darkened as insult washed over him. "Me in general?" he repeated.

Although she could tell that his disposition had changed, she didn't back down from her previous statement. "You're good-looking and charismatic and it seems like you're used to attention from girls, but the thing is I've seen what men like you can do," she explained, "They destroyed my mother. And even though I'd hoped that you were different than the magazines made you seem…"

"I'm not," Oliver concluded. She gave a small shake of her head but was thankfully silent.

"Why did you enter in the first place?" Oliver asked, "It seems like you hate the Selection based on principle."

"I do," she admitted, "If I would have become queen, I would have done away with it for good." An interesting assertion, Oliver thought, since she wouldn't have had the power to do so unless he as king would have acquiesced. "But, uh, it was sort of the money," she continued, "It could really help my family. My mom's a single mother, and we get by, but it's not easy."

He stood, despite the fact that he had offered to be in the library for an hour. "I appreciate your honesty," he replied robotically. It was one of the things that his mother had always told him was an appropriate response to something that he didn't want to hear. "If you'll see Tristan before you leave, I'll send instruction that you're to be given two more weeks' compensation."

Melody looked surprised. "You don't have to—"

"I know," Oliver curtailed her. He turned to leave but hesitated. "Look," he began as he turned back towards Melody, "I care about all of the Selected. I've never had relationships like this, and I'm learning. You can think all that you want about me as a person or a ruler, but don't doubt that I'm taking this process seriously and I care about you girls."

And then he left, his anger boiling just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. He headed to Tristan's room, and his brother looked surprised when he threw open the doors. "You know," Tristan chirped, "We've had a discussion about this knocking thing. It's really simple enough even for a Neanderthal like you to do, Ol."

When Oliver didn't respond, Tristan added, "Aren't you supposed to be in the library?"

"Melody's leaving," Oliver answered, "I need you to write her two additional weeks of pay."

Tristan's brow furrowed. "But the rules—"

"Fuck the rules," Oliver glared, "I'm the future king, aren't I?"

Tristan fell silent but dutifully wrote out a note about Oliver's instruction. "Any of the other girls stop by?" he asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I figured it would be Melody, Gabrielle, and Irina, since they looked the most bothered. I don't really know if it would be a bad idea if Irina decided to leave too, but I'm going to beg Gabi to stay if I have to."

"Any thoughts about your elimination?" Tristan added.

Oliver nodded this time. "Melody, Molly, Calla, Maisie, and Eden," he explained. "Takes it down to twenty-five." He sighed. "I should probably go deal with all of that."

Tristan stared at his brother for a minute. "Don't be too upset about Melody," he instructed, "She's only sixteen and young, and she had a sort of jaded view of men from her mother anyway. You would have had to be an actual prince charming to get rid of those preconceived notions about love."

"Well, I'm not," Oliver frowned. "I can barely be myself and a prince let alone the embodiment of a fairytale."

"We all know you're trying, Oliver," Tristan offered generously, "That's enough for now."

Oliver really hoped his brother was right.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry this took so long, I've had a lot going on with family. Hopefully the fact that this is the longest chapter yet will appease any anger. Also, there are some references to Illea's governmental structure that I've taken liberties with, just a warning. Thanks for reading and all the support! Let me know who your favorite characters are if you review :D

* * *

Despite being a prince, there were some things that Oliver never expected to do in his lifetime. Hosting an Olympics was one of them.

And yet, there he was, dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt with a megaphone in his hand. A pair of aviators shielded his face from the sun and the hatred that was radiating off the girls at the moment. "They're going to kill you," Tristan smirked from beside him.

Oliver turned and lifted his megaphone into his brother's face, as he had been doing for much of the morning. "Shut up," he ordered, the volume of his voice intensified by the megaphone. Tristan rolled his eyes and turned away from Oliver, his arms crossed as he studied the field.

Currently, the girls were separated into five groups at five different event stations. The first group was playing a game that Oliver cleverly called 'balance the orange' where they each balanced an orange on a large spoon while trying to hit other's oranges off with another spoon (it was hilarious to watch). Another five were engaged in an intense card game called spoons, which was similar to musical chairs as the person left without a spoon at the end was eliminated. The third group was currently embroiled in a blind taste test (he laughed every time a girl threatened to vomit after eating something innocuous), while the fourth were playing a game of bamboozle: Tristan had picked ridiculous words out of the dictionary and they were trying to guess the meanings. The final group each had balloons tied to their feet and were chasing each other around, trying to pop someone else's balloon while preserving their own.

The hilarious part was that the girls had no idea what they were competing for, yet they were all trying their damnedest. Oliver appreciated the dedication and only hoped that they would attack their next mission with the same voracity.

Oliver had had a troubling morning. It had come on the heels of a rather relaxing weekend that he'd spent in Sonage with his Uncle Osten at his mother's behest. He'd been forced to attend a state dinner with his uncle, but after that, they'd spent the weekend on the beach: surfing, grilling, and drinking. It had been awesome, and Oliver had felt more clearheaded and relaxed than he had since the start of the Selection.

That was until his uncle had made a comment about how shocked he was that it was already the beginning of September, and Oliver realized that a very important day in August had passed.

When he had returned to the palace earlier that Monday morning, he had made a beeline for Elijah's room and threw open the door without knocking. He had found his friend relaxed on his couch, his feet propped up on his mahogany coffee table and a French vocabulary book clutched in his hand. "Welcome back," Elijah had greeted. He cast his book aside and stood up. "Ready to get back into this crazy—Ow!"

Since his epiphany while sitting in the sand with his uncle, Oliver had decided that the first thing he would do when returned to the palace was punch his friend. Once the blow was delivered, he wasn't satisfied, and he had crossed his arms as he stared grimly at his friend. "What was that for?" Elijah had gaped as rubbed his shoulder.

"Do you know what was two weeks ago, Elijah?"

His friend had thrown his arms out, bewildered. "The start of this circus show?" he'd guessed.

"Your _birthday_ ," Oliver hissed, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Sorry, did you really just punch me because _you_ forgot my birthday?"

"That's not the point! Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's not a big deal, man," Elijah had laughed, "The Selection was starting, and you were busy."

Oliver was outraged. "I am _never_ too busy for your birthday," he'd insisted, "Remember last year when I stole the plane so we could go to Cannes for the weekend?"

Both boys grinned as they remembered the three days that they had spent consumed by parties in the French seaside town. Eadlyn had given him hell for it when he came back, but it had been worth it. "It's different now, Ol," Elijah had shrugged, "You're getting married, gonna be king soon. It's cool if you don't have time for the things that we used to do."

Oliver had been deeply bothered by this. "You're my best friend, Elijah."

"And look, you got me a butler this year!" Elijah had grinned as he gestured at the butler that he'd been assigned when he'd moved into the palace. He threw an arm around Oliver's shoulders. "We're good, man. Don't worry about it. Now let's go get some mimosas and see if there's any new movies in the theater."

Oliver had only entertained a few mimosas before the gears in his heads had started turning and formulated the best plan ever. After providing his friend with a lame excuse, he'd ordered Tristan to assemble the Selected, rushed off to his room to grab his megaphone, and the Olympics had commenced.

He needed ten winners, so they repeated each event twice. Once that was over, he split the girls into two groups of seven (Samantha was excluded, as he had a special mission for her for the week), and he and Tristan sat in the grass giggling as they refereed the girls' game of dodgeball. They were ruthless, and more than once, Tristan had to blow the whistle that Oliver had awarded him that morning.

After an hour in the hot Angeles sun and their ridiculous events, the girls all collapsed into the grass as they waited for Oliver to explain what the day's efforts had been for. "You guys are probably wondering why I've had you out here playing some really ridiculous games for the last hour," he began.

They all glowered at him. Tristan repressed a laugh as Oliver withered slightly under twenty-five angry stares.

"Anyway," he continued, "Elijah has been my best friend since I was nine. And usually, birthdays are my specialty. But, uh, unfortunately, Elijah's birthday coincided with the start of the Selection."

There was a silence as Oliver waited for the girls to infer what that meant. When their faces showed no sudden realization, Tristan clarified, "Oliver forgot this year."

"I didn't _forget_ ," snapped Oliver, "The point is, Elijah deserves a party. And I thought it'd be a good way for you guys to get some experience planning and hosting an event. Usually you guys don't get actual princess experience until the Elite, but whatever. I'm thinking a whole weekend of parties: a formal celebration on Friday, a chill party on Saturday, and a relaxed, recovery brunch on Sunday."

The girls looked excited. "But," Oliver added, his face serious, "Elijah does not hear a single word about this. I really don't like it when people ruin surprises."

Friday's event was a more serious affair, so Everly would be serving as the group's advisor. The winners of the day's mini games were entrusted with planning the ball: Esther, Xylie, Brynn, Ebony, Margaery, Dalila, Presley, Irina and Gabrielle. The winners of the dodgeball game got Saturday's laid-back party, and the losers were planning brunch.

"You'll all be expected to be present and supportive at each other's events," warned Tristan, "and I recommend working your best to make sure the weekend is a success. Oliver takes his friendship very seriously, and your performance will be evaluated when the next elimination comes around."

At the conclusion of their announcement, the girls flocked to their groups and a buzz of conversation soon erupted. Oliver called Samantha over, who looked a little disappointed to be excluded from the planning committees. "I need your help with something else this week," he explained.

She brightened. "Of course!"

"My mom has a designer who usually takes care of the royal family's clothes," he began.

Samantha's eyes lit up. "Hale Garner?" she gasped. "He's incredible!"

Oliver repressed a laugh. "Well, he was a little overwhelmed when I told him I needed twenty-five new gowns in addition to my family's outfits and the Humboldts' by Friday," he explained, chuckling as he thought of the way Hale's face had gone white at the order. He hadn't heard anything else Oliver had said, as he'd instantly immersed himself in a stack of designs, his hands flying across his sketchbook. "Think you could help him out for the week?"

"Yes!" Samantha instantly replied, "That would be _amazing_."

"Great," chirped Oliver, "I have to go talk to my mom about something, so I'll take you to the atelier and introduce you to Hale first."

Samantha was one of the younger Selected, a pretty sixteen-year-old with wavy light brown hair and green eyes. She was an average height, which Oliver was beginning to realize he preferred, and she had a bubbly, upbeat personality. "Tell me something about your life in Allens," he requested as they made their way towards the palace.

After a moment of contemplation, she answered, "I have an older sister and two brothers."

"Are you close with them?" Oliver asked. Although he obviously didn't fault the girls in any way, he liked to hear that they had siblings that they were close with, since his own siblings were such a big part of his life.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Very," Samantha smiled, "Jon is actually my twin, and we're pretty much inseparable."

They arrived at the atelier, and Oliver wasn't shocked by the flurry of activity inside. Hale had apparently already sent out for reinforcements, and two dresses were already starting to take life on mannequins. "I brought you an apprentice," Oliver declared as he gestured to Samantha, "Hale, meet Lady Samantha."

Always the gentleman, Hale paused his hustling and shook Samantha's hand. "A pleasure, Lady Samantha. Tell me," his eyes looked hopeful and a little desperate, "do you have any design experience?"

Samantha looked nervous. "I work in a dress shop," she admitted, "but I've always wanted to be a designer."

"Perfect!" Hale declared. "Come with me." He grabbed her wrist, and they descended into the eye of the dress storm together, neither taking any further note of Oliver.

He let himself out of the atelier and began the search for his mother. He'd cleared her study, the Women's Room, and the kitchen when he ran into his father. "Welcome back," Kile greeted him. "Heard you've had a busy morning. The orange game, huh?"

"It was great," chuckled Oliver, "I'm planning… something. I actually needed to talk to mom about it. Have you seen her?"

"I think she and Neena are waiting for a conference call with Italy in the boardroom," he explained. "I've been banished to get a haircut." Kile made a face, and Oliver laughed. For as long as he could remember, the biggest argument between his parents had been Kile's lackadaisical attitude toward his appearance.

"Go for a Mohawk," Oliver suggested with a smirk, "Bet she won't hound you about a haircut after that."

His dad laughed. "Oliver," he sighed, "You have a few things to learn about marriage."

They parted, and Oliver located his mom in the aforementioned boardroom. "Hello, darling," she smiled, "Great to have you back. Osten said that the dinner was a success, so thank you for attending. I was swamped with work here."

"No problem," he shrugged as he dropped into a seat across from her. "Hey, Miss Neena." His mom's closest friend and advisor smiled warmly at him.

"So I need to talk to you about this ball that we're having Friday," Oliver began.

Eadlyn shot a confused look at Neena, who usually handled her schedule. "We're having a ball Friday?" Neena began hastily flipping through Eadlyn's appointment book.

"It's a recent development," Oliver explained, "The Selected are planning it. I thought that it would be a good experience for them, and I wanted to do something for Elijah's birthday."

Eadlyn's brow furrowed. "Elijah's birthday was two weeks ago," she pointed out.

Oliver threw his arms out. "Did everyone remember this but me?!" he demanded. "And no one thought to tell me?!"

Eadlyn ignored him. "So you're throwing him a ball because you forgot his birthday?" she surmised, not sounding nearly as surprised any longer.

"And a casual get-together on Saturday and a brunch on Sunday," Oliver concluded proudly. Neena laughed, while Eadlyn rolled her eyes. "Hey, it's better than traipsing off to Cannes like at last minute like last year."

Eadlyn begrudgingly agreed. "I suppose that's fine," she finally agreed, "Even if it is premature exposure to potential duties for the girls, maybe the public will think it's an example of how serious you're taking this."

"One more thing," Oliver added.

"Of course there is." Eadlyn turned her expectant gaze to him, already having mentally steeled herself for whatever outrageous request she was about to meet. Oliver had a routine: he would usually present a semi-ridiculous request (such as three days of parties), and once his mother had been worn down and was in agreement, he would hit her with the real hum-dinger.

"I want to grant Elijah a lordship," he declared proudly.

Eadlyn leaned forward and put her head in her hands. "Of course you do," came the mumbled response.

Even Neena's eyes widened in surprise. "Your Highness," she began kindly, "You realize that lords have a special place in our government, right?"

"Of course," Oliver agreed, "His position will be contingent on his acceptance as position of Lord Great Chamberlain in my council."

Sometimes, his mother's expressions were hard to distinguish. She had a great poker face (she usually beat everyone in actual card games) and an impressive ability to conceal her initial emotional reactions. "You would make Elijah one of the great officers of the state?"

"Who better than Elijah?" Oliver shrugged. "Especially considering the access that the Lord Great Chamberlain has to the monarch. Isn't that why Aunt Josie's been your Chamberlain?"

She stared at him for a long moment before her face broke into a smile. "That's exactly why," she agreed. "I think it's a great appointment."

He grinned. "So I can have the parties?"

"Yes. There is certain decorum that need to be observed for the state event on Friday though, so at least enlist Everly to help the Selected."

"Way ahead of you," he declared. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

After his mother's mark of approval had been obtained, the hard part was over for Oliver. His disappearance to Sonage the previous weekend had meant that he'd had to cancel promised get-togethers with Kaitlyn and Brynn, so his next goal was to rectify these situations. He didn't have time to plan anything extravagant, but when he found Kaitlyn in the library, he asked if she'd be interested in taking a walk with him. As boring as the offer sounded coming out of his mouth, she luckily agreed.

They headed towards a picturesque little pond near the stables. In the height of summer, he enjoyed splashing around in it with Blackie. Today, though, the pond was quiet and undisturbed. "I'm sorry about Friday," he began, "I had to go to Sonage for this thing with my uncle."

"I got your flowers," Kaitlyn smiled, in reference to the apology bouquets that he'd sent to her and Brynn, "They're gorgeous, but you didn't have to. I think people forget that being the prince is also your job."

He exhaled in relief, glad to hear that she wasn't upset. "That's what I'm always trying to explain," he grinned, "I'm glad that you get it." He reached out and took her hand, and she tried to hide her excited smile. "So, how's everything coming for Elijah's birthday?" She was part of the group that would be planning Saturday's celebration.

"Very well," she smiled, "I think you're both going to love it."

"That's all I get?" Oliver groaned, "Come on, Davis, I want details."

"Guess you'll have to wait and be surprised with Elijah," she teased.

Oliver frowned. "You gotta give me something—what the hell is that?"

She followed his gaze, and she released his hand to rush forward. "It's a kitten!" she exclaimed as she dropped to the grass beside the small, shivering gray bundle at the edge of the pond. She glanced around as she petted the kitten. "Do you have any barn cats that it might belong to?"

"No," Oliver countered, "We don't keep barn cats. I don't like—" He cut himself off, thinking of the way that she had responded to the small cat.

"Isn't he so cute?" she gushed as the kitten untangled itself and rubbed its head against her knee.

The cat turned a pair of dubious blue eyes on Oliver, and he felt like it could see into his soul. Truthfully, he didn't quite like small animals—they were suspicious, always turning up in unexpected places with those watchful eyes—but Kaitlyn looked so happy that he couldn't bring himself to object. "He's something," he nodded in response.

"Maybe we should wait to see if his mom comes back for him," she frowned, her forehead puckered with worry as she glanced around. "Come here." She took Oliver's arm and dragged him behind a bush that did a fair job of concealing them while also allowing her to keep an eye on the kitten.

"How long do we have to wait for this cat group to come back for it?" Oliver whispered.

Kaitlyn shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted, "I'm a people nurse, not a vet. But I saw something on TV about how abandoned animals sometimes aren't really abandoned, so I don't want to kittennap him from his mom."

He snorted at 'kittennap' but settled into the grass beside her. Despite his feelings about cats, he thought it was cute that Kaitlyn seemed to want to take care of anything—person or animal—that she encountered. "What got you into nursing?" he asked as he watched her. "Have you always just wanted to help people?"

Before his eyes, her postured tensed in a manner that he hadn't seen yet. Oliver was a master of evasion, and he could tell that she was about to shut him out. "Hey," he leaned forward and put a hand on her back. She turned her blue eyes towards him hesitantly. "Talk to me, Kaitlyn," he urged her.

She abandoned kitten watch for a minute as she settled into the grass beside him as well. "My dad was a police officer," she began, a sad smile on her face, "Four years ago, right after my brother was born, he was shot during a robbery. He died on the operating table at the hospital."

Oliver reached out and pulled her to his chest, his arms enveloping her. "It's okay," she insisted, although she didn't make a move to break his embrace, "I loved my dad, and I thought what better way to honor his memory than trying to help people, like those doctors and nurses tried to help him?"

Oliver didn't say anything, didn't know what to say. He couldn't imagine life without either of his parents, and he had a newfound appreciation of how positive Kaitlyn always seemed. After they sat together in silence for a while, he stood and approached the gray cat. "You're going to be Kaitlyn's," he told it as he picked it up, "And you're gonna be the best cat ever, got it? And you're never going to creepily appear in my bathroom."

"Here," he declared as he held the cat out to her, "He's yours. And if he was kittennapped, and I'm gonna be honest, I don't think he was, I did it, not you."

"I can keep him?" she asked excitedly as she accepted the kitten.

"Sure," he shrugged, "I'll have someone go collect… kitten supplies."

They made their way back to the palace with their new ward, and an hour later, Jonathan had procured everything a cat could possibly want: food, a bed, toys, a climbing tree, treats. He'd gotten so much that the cat's belongings dominated a corner of Kaitlyn's room. "What are you going to name him?" he asked as they watched the kitten attack a toy mouse.

"I'm so bad with names," she frowned.

She glanced at Oliver, and he held his hands up. "Hey, don't look at me," he countered, "I named my horse Blackie."

She laughed and turned her attention back to the cat. After a moment, her face lit up and she declared, "Ponds."

He laughed. "Because we found him at a pond?"

"Yes," she nodded, "But I'll spell it P-a-w-n-d-s. Get it? Cause he has paws?"

There was a moment of silence as Oliver thought about the punny name, and once it sank it, he burst into laughter. "You are almost as bad at names as I am," he declared, "But welcome to the family, Pawnds."

Pawnds was a hit amongst the palace. If he wasn't being fawned over by one of the Selected, there was some maid or guard sneaking him treats. Once, Oliver even caught his mother stoop to pet him on her way back to her quarters.

Between the excitement of their new pet and the hectic preparation for their upcoming weekend events, the week passed quickly. Oliver didn't plan any extravagant dates. He had tea with Eleanor, played a game of tennis with Madison, had a private dinner with Brynn, and cooked a late night snack with Dalila when he happened upon her in the kitchen again. It was enough to satiate the media and public and leave Oliver excited for Friday.

In fact, he'd never felt so energized before a segment of _The Report_. Tristan said the planning had gone well, and he was excited for the end result. He'd instructed Coen to keep the show short, so they had time to change before the party officially started at seven, and despite the fact that Elijah had been present for hundreds of _Reports_ , his friend didn't seem to bat an eye when Coen finished things up a solid twenty minutes early and promised they'd have a surprise for Illéa later in the weekend.

Oliver had just tugged his tie and crown off when Elijah wandered over. "Coen's getting better," he noted as he rolled up his own sleeves, "It didn't seem to drag tonight."

Oliver repressed his smirk. "Yeah, not bad," he agreed.

"Want to go grab something from the kitchen?" suggested Elijah. "I'm starving. We could probably have the chef whip us up some burgers or something."

The perfect set up. His friend was almost making it too easy. "There's a new steakhouse that's been begging me to come in," Oliver lied slyly, "We could change and then check that out. Might get some free drinks."

Elijah laughed. "The richest bastard in the country, and you'll do anything for free drinks," he teased. It technically wasn't true, but Oliver didn't have time to explain the nuances of his finances. He needed to get Elijah to his room while guests arrived.

Oliver shrugged. "What can I say?" he laughed, "Come on. Hale messed up the sizing on one of my new tuxes, and it would probably fit you. We can stop by my room and change while Jonathan brings the car around."

The timing had been carefully planned. Oliver had made sure guests were aware that no tardiness would be tolerated, and at exactly six fifty-five, he and Elijah would leave for the ballroom. That gave them forty minutes to get ready in his room, which Oliver thought was more than enough time.

Unfortunately, Elijah noticed a bottle of champagne that had been delivered for Oliver earlier in the week, and before he knew it, they'd wasted thirty minutes. "Oh, god, Jonathan's gonna kill us," Oliver groaned as he threw Elijah's clothes at him.

While Elijah was changing in the bathroom, Oliver scrambled into his own outfit in his closet. He'd never changed so fast in his life, and he was just putting on his cuff links—he couldn't find his second favorite pair, and he was going to kill Tristan if he'd taken them again—when Elijah emerged. "Wow, Hale really did a terrible job if this was meant for you," he laughed, "Fits me like a glove."

"Wow, how about that," snorted Oliver. He wasn't too shocked, as he'd given Hale his friend's measurements. He turned to Anderson and cleared his throat. "Well, I guess we'll be going now…"

"Oh," Anderson nodded, remembering his role in the scheme, "Your mother requested you meet her in the ball room before you leave, Your Highness."

Oliver pretended to be put out and rolled his eyes. "There's always something," he mumbled to Elijah they started for the ball room.

"Want me to meet you at the car?" Elijah offered. "Maybe she won't keep you as long if someone's waiting on you."

"No!" Oliver nearly yelled. "I mean… she probably won't yell at me for anything if you're there. Better safe than sorry."

Elijah nodded, although his eyes looked a little suspicious at how jumpy Oliver was being. His eyes narrowed when they landed on Oliver's head. "Why are you wearing your crown?" he asked. "You never wear that thing out."

They were so close. Oliver swore if Elijah figured it out right before he pulled off his huge surprise, he was going to give up on the whole night. "Oh," Oliver laughed. "Must've forgot. I'll give it to my mom before we leave."

For the moment, his friend seemed appeased, and Oliver sighed in relief when they reached the atrium outside of the ballroom. He nodded at the butlers awaiting them, and when the large double doors were opened, Elijah's jaw dropped. Oliver grinned enormously when the page awaiting them struck the ground with his scepter to quiet the ballroom. "His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Oliver I of Illéa, and His Excellency Lord Elijah Humboldt."

The room erupted into applause, and Oliver glanced at Elijah, who looked awestruck. "Oh, by the way," Oliver beamed, "You just got promoted. Happy birthday." Then, he turned and walked down the stairs.

The grand ballroom was spectacular in its own right. The ceiling was high, painted a mixture of lavender, gray, and white to mimic clouds, and five enormous, glittering chandeliers hung from it. There was one in each corner of the room, as well as one in the very center that dripped with diamonds. The floor and staircase were all a warm marble that complimented the white walls and gold gilding on the doors and around each set of tall double windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

The Selected had filled the room with exclusively white flowers, and all of the drapery was a deep purple, the color of the royal family. The windows were all left open, a warm breeze dancing through the room, and there were plush seats arranged on each of the balconies for sitting. His parents' thrones were at the far end of the room, tall and regal as always, and near them the royal orchestra played. There were places of importance provided for his grandparents and siblings, as well as a few others which he assumed were for Elijah and his parents. There was a snack and dessert bar, a photo area set up in one corner, and waiters were revolving with drinks.

His parents were already seated on their highbacked silver thrones, as they would be while all of their guests of importance were presented, and he was glad to see that his mother looked pleased as he approached. He bowed respectfully before his mother nodded, and he was allowed to approach. He kissed her cheek and shook his dad's hand. "Not bad, huh?"

"They did very well," Eadlyn smiled. "I don't doubt that we have a few good candidates for queen."

It made Oliver glad to hear that she approved of the group. Although he constantly argued with Tristan and Elijah about being a momma's boy, he knew that his closeness with his mom would prevent him from ever picking someone that she disliked. "Guess I should mingle," he noted as he glanced about the crowded room.

"And bring me some of those crème fraiche crepes," Kile ordered. "I'm coming for those when I'm allowed out of this stupid chair. Marry whoever approved the menu _immediately_." Eadlyn rolled her eyes at her husband, but Oliver laughed and promised to snag some from a nearby waiter.

He spotted his brother and Elijah and headed over to them. "Well, what do you think?" he asked his friend excitedly.

"I guess this is better than Cannes," Elijah smiled. "Tristan was just telling me about my position."

"Should you accept," shrugged Oliver. "It's still a job, but there's no one I trust more."

Tristan glared. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Oliver smirked. "You know what I mean," he shrugged, "Besides, he's not my competition."

"Don't you have enough competition going on with the Selection?" Isolde laughed as she joined the group. Oliver tried to think of a reply, but he was a little distracted. She was wearing a blush silk dress with a jeweled embellishment at her waist and shoulders. The dress clung to her body before it flared softly at her thighs to the floor, and the neckline caved in a V shape in the front and back that attracted Oliver's eyes without being indecent. Her hair fell in refined waves, her makeup was elegant and polished, and she looked regal.

Oliver was so mesmerized that the only reply that he could come up was an idiotic one. "Tristan's my heir presumptive," he blurted. She looked amused, while Tristan shot him a, " _What the hell?_ " expression, and Elijah snorted into his champagne. Had he really brought up the line of succession? How suave. "Until I have kids," he added in an attempt to rectify the situation, "hence the Selection." Oh god, he needed to stop.

"Lady Isolde," Tristan laughed, "I think what my brother was trying to come up with was, 'You look beautiful. Would you like to dance?'"

Isolde smiled widely. "Of course, Your Highness," she agreed.

Oliver breathed out in relief, momentarily grateful that Tristan had articulated what Oliver should have said so clearly. However, when Tristan extended his hand and Isolde accepted it, Oliver's eyebrows knit together. "Hey," he frowned as he and Elijah watched them walk out onto the dance floor, "I thought he was setting me up."

"Looks like he stole your shot," smirked Elijah. "Don't worry, you've got twenty-four others."

Oliver groaned. "That's a lot of dancing," he admitted, feeling daunted. "Help me out?"

Elijah shrugged noncommittally. "Have you talked to your—" He broke off, and Oliver followed his gaze. "Wow."

Wow was right. Everly had just slipped into the ballroom quietly, although the page had likely offered to announce the visiting princess. While Everly usually took it upon herself to live up to the epitome of princess in large, ornate ball gowns, she had forsaken her signature style and was dressed in a white gown with golden embroidery that hugged her body close. It featured a cut out in the back, and she looked more grown up than Oliver had ever seen her at an event.

"She better hope Uncle Ahren doesn't see these pictures," he snorted. "Must be trying to catch someone's eye."

Elijah laughed weakly in response before he held up his glass. "Hey, I'm gonna get a refill. Need one?"

Oliver shook his head and glanced around the room once he was alone. He noticed Mae and Margaery were standing together across the room. They were dressed in similar jewel tones: Mae's gown was a vibrant purple with a sweetheart neckline and mermaid shape, while Margaery's was royal blue with off the shoulder straps and a similar mermaid bottom. Mae's hair fell loose, glossy and wavy, and Margaery's was twisted into a braided updo. Margaery looked a little nervous as she glanced around.

He wanted to talk to them, but he hadn't quite figured out how to handle their friendship. It was one thing to know that two girls that he really liked were friends, but interacting with them at the same time sounded weird. So instead, he spied Gabrielle talking to a random guest and headed in her direction.

The man that she was talking to spotted Oliver before she did and made his exit with a quick bow to Gabrielle. "Are you trying to replace me, Lady Gabrielle?" Oliver asked, pretending to be wounded.

She smiled and curtsied. "I don't think that's possible, Your Grace," she countered with a smile. Her gown was light blue and sleeveless with a collection of blue jewels at the neck. It was a sheath shape that flowed out around the bottom of her legs. Her hair was in a loose, messy bun at the base of her neck, and a silver headband sparkled in her blonde hair.

She seemed a little more reserved than their first encounter at the pool party, so Oliver added, "I'm sorry I haven't gotten a chance to speak with you much lately. It's been a little crazy."

It turned out that he had said the right thing (for once), for her face brightened. "That's all right," she offered cheerfully. It was kind of nice to see that someone's mood could be improved simply by his presence.

"The party turned out wonderfully," he complimented.

She glanced around proudly. "Thank you," beamed Gabrielle. "We had a great team. I'm kind of a perfectionist, so I'm just glad no one wanted to bury me in the grounds before it was all over."

"Well, I'm glad they didn't," smiled Oliver, "You look beautiful tonight."

She twirled in a small circle. "Hale and Samantha were incredible," she praised.

"Indeed," Oliver agreed, "I feel cheated. A basic black tux? That's all I get?"

Gabrielle giggled. "They didn't need much to make you look great," she replied.

Oliver laughed. "Tell me, Lady Gabrielle, do you dance as well as charm?" He offered his hand, and she eagerly took it.

"Gabi, please," she offered, "And I suppose we'll find out."

He was reminded of their extreme height difference while dancing, but it wasn't the worst. He felt really manly and strong as he led tiny Gabi through a basic waltz, and she cheerfully kept their conversation rolling so he didn't feel like dancing was a chore. "Oh, no," Oliver noted towards the end of the dance.

Gabi's turquoise eyes widened. "What?" she asked. "Did I step on your foot?"

"No," he laughed, "I was just wondering if we'd cured you of your fear of heights. There's a lift coming up."

Gabi bravely replied, "I suppose for the good of the dance—ah!" Her yelp of surprise turned into a peal of laughter as Oliver lifted her into the air and twirled her, and the sound was so infectious that Oliver was chuckling in amusement as well by the time he returned her to the ground. They'd attracted attention from some of the couples nearby, but he didn't mind.

The song started to change, and he would have danced with Gabi a second time but a hand appeared on his arm. "Lady Gabrielle," smiled Irina, "You don't mind if I cut in, do you?"

It looked like Gabi did mind, but she shrugged her small shoulders. "Thank you for the dance, Your Highness," she smiled at Oliver before she stepped away.

Irina fell into her place easily, a pleased smile on her face. Her dress was a glittering black and hugged her curves. The neck dipped lower than Isolde's and gave him a tantalizing view that made it difficult for Oliver to focus on her face. She'd styled her dark blonde hair back in a ponytail as though she was trying to keep the focus on the front of her dress. "What do you think of the ball?" she asked.

"It's great," Oliver replied, "You all did a great job." She was also tall, and Oliver suspected her heels made them of equal height, which he found troubling. "What do you do back in Ottaro?" he asked.

She was unsurprisingly a model. He could have guessed based on her looks and demeanor. She was the sort of girl that was used to being at the center of attention, and it was one of the things that Oliver actually liked about her. She seemed sure of herself, unlikely to wilt under public scrutiny. He wasn't sure if he had a connection with her, and he was a little concerned by the reports that she wasn't exactly friendly, but she was a safe choice for him. If he provided her with the title of queen, he had a feeling that she would dutifully fulfill her role.

After his dance with Irina, he decided to take a break, and headed towards the snack bar. He had completely forgotten about the crepes that his father had mentioned, but after he tried one, he could see why Kile had raved about them so much. "Why do I have a feeling that you were in charge of the menu?" he smirked as Dalila joined him.

She shrugged, though her smile looked pleased. "I might have had a hand."

"Well, watch out," he warned her, "My father's in love."

Dalila beamed. "Try the caramelized onion and goat cheese bread," she suggested.

Oliver let her lead him through the snack bar, and by the time he managed to force himself to stop, he felt like dancing was out of the question for a moment. He glanced around to see what kind of progress his brother and Elijah were making. To his irritation, Tristan was still dancing with Isolde, while Elijah was spinning Everly around. They were useless.

Instead, he headed towards the photo area where Brynn, Presley, and Esther were huddled. There were different props provided, and Brynn had a feather boa wrapped around her neck, while Presley wore a pair of fake glasses and nose combo, and Esther donned a pair of cat ears. "I want in on this," he declared as he scanned the props.

The cool hats were out of the question because of his crown, but they eventually decided on a large pair of kissy lips for him. "How do I look?" he asked as he posed for the girls.

"Definitely recommend those for your next official portrait," laughed Brynn.

He stuck his tongue out at her (which she couldn't see behind the lips anyway), and the four crowded in front of the backdrop. The photographer gave them a countdown, and they all struck ridiculous poses right before the flashbulb exploded. "I'm blind," Oliver bemoaned as he abandoned the lips.

Presley and Brynn rolled their eyes at his dramatic, but Esther laughed as he grabbed her arm to steady himself. She was wearing a beautiful strapless green dress that brought out the color in her eyes, and her light brown hair fell in loose curls. "Lady Esther, would you be so kind as to accompany me outside until I make a miraculous recovery?"

"Of course, Your Highness," she smiled as they waved goodbye to the other girls and stepped out onto a nearby balcony. He fell onto a chaise and kicked his feet up.

"You guys did an awesome job," he declared.

"It was really fun," smiled Esther, "Planning balls isn't something I get to do very often."

"No, I don't imagine they're commonplace in Hansport," Oliver admitted, "What do you think?"

Esther smiled at the ball room. "I could get used to it," she declared.

"Good," Oliver smiled, "I enjoy a good party."

"You don't say," she kidded dryly.

They talked a little while longer out in the cool Angeles night before another figure appeared on the balcony. "Oh, so sorry," Xylie offered, as though she had no idea that Oliver had company, "Should I come back later?" She looked the picture of girly innocence in a light pink gown with a tulle skirt separated from its lace top with a belt of sparkling jewels.

"It's fine," Esther sighed begrudgingly as she stood. She curtsied to Oliver and disappeared into the ball room.

"Do you dance, Oliver?" Xylie asked coyly.

"Of course," he declared as he stood and offered his hand to Xylie. She seemed to be one of the few girls who weren't wearing high heels, and he hoped he was still graceful when his dance partner was a whole foot shorter than him.

She looked beautiful, and she seemed pleased when he told her as much. As they danced, he noticed a delicious smell that seemed to radiate off her, and he asked, "Is that… watermelon?"

"Watermelon lemonade," she explained, "It's my favorite smell in the world."

"I like it," he declared.

She seemed to falter for a moment, as though remembering something that was a little painful. "Well," she beamed, her sadness disappearing, "You smell quite good yourself." He laughed at the praise.

"What do you think of the ball?" she continued, "Was Elijah surprised?"

"He was," Oliver nodded, "It's great. How was working with the girls?"

"Oh, it was fine," laughed Xylie, "Some of them weren't familiar with planning such a high class affair, but we helped them through. Everly is so sweet, and we worked so well together."

He was glad to hear that she was getting along with his cousin, considering how close he and Everly were. Xylie's mention of her made Oliver realize that he hadn't spoken with Everly all night, and when his dance was over, he set out to find her.

Everly was talking with Celine and a few of the Selected when he found her. Oliver was met with a chorus of greetings, and he nodded to the girls. "I wanted to thank you," he told Everly, "You and the Selected did a great job."

Everly smiled. "I'm glad he—uh, you like it," she replied. She seemed flustered, and she threw back her champagne. "Excuse me, looks like I need a refill."

"That was weird," he muttered as she dashed away. He turned to the group of girls. Lady Ebony, who had been part of planning the ball, was wearing a black and white gown with a high slit, and her dark hair fell over her shoulder in waves. She was joined by Rosalie in a gray one shoulder gown, and Patricia, who was dressed in a green gown and had brought the camera that Oliver had sent her. She was happily snapping away, and Oliver asked her to send the pictures his way if she caught any good ones, which she agreed to.

"How was your first foray into royal party planning?" he asked Ebony.

"Can't complain," she shrugged with a smile. "It was a little different than what I do back home."

"Which is?"

"I'm a mechanic," she admitted, to the surprise of Oliver and the other Selected.

"Full of surprises, aren't you?" Oliver asked.

She gave a saucy wink. "Yes," she declared.

He excused himself from the girls when he noticed Samantha talking with Hale and his mother. She was dressed in a navy blue mermaid style gown with a ruffled skirt. Her hair was pulled into an updo, and she looked pleased as she glanced around at all the dresses that she and Hale had worked on.

"You did an incredible job," he praised her when he joined the group.

"I might not let you have her back," Hale joked. "She's an incredible talent."

Samantha seemed overwhelmed. "Thank you so much for the opportunity," she beamed, her eyes jumping from Hale to Oliver. "This is more than I ever hoped for."

"This will probably pale in comparison to everything else then," Oliver ribbed, "but care to dance?"

She nodded enthusiastically, and he led her towards the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a new song. "So guess I've got to worry about Hale stealing you away now, huh?"

Samantha laughed. "No," she admitted, "Mr. Garner is incredible, but I wouldn't give up the Selection for anything." He was glad to hear so. While he wanted to expose the girls to as many opportunities as possible, there was a nagging fear that he would show them something that was more appealing than he was. "After that though…" She trailed off and they both laughed.

"Well, Hale works closely with my mother, so he's usually around if you've ever got free time," he offered. "Although I know the days of lounging in the Women's Room must be hard to pass on."

"They're fun," she countered, "Usually we play games or just talk with each other."

"I'll have to sneak in and see what goes on in there one day," he decided.

Samantha smiled. "We'd all love to have you around." And she seemed so sweet and sincere that he didn't doubt it.

Oliver spent the evening socializing. He danced way too many times, greeted anyone his mother sent his way, and returned to the snack bar more than a few times (he was beginning to think Dalila was a sorcerer not a cook). But as the ball dragged on, he began to realize that there was one person that he seemed to evade him at every turn.

Her luck didn't last forever though, and Oliver finally caught sight of her alone near the dessert bar. He made a beeline for her, and when she noticed him, she tried to turn to escape. Unfortunately, there was a group of people to her left, the dessert bar to her right, and a wall behind her, so after making a full circle, Margaery was forced to stand there as Oliver joined her. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're avoiding me," Oliver noted.

She laughed, a loud, forced sound. "What makes you say that?"

He frowned. "Uh, it might be the fact that you just tried to run away from me."

"There… was a bug," she offered weakly.

"Uh huh." Oliver noticed the group of people to their right were trying to listen to their conversation, so he set his drink down and took Margaery's hand to lead her outside to an empty balcony. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," she countered, "I just… after the video…" She huffed. "I'm sorry if it upset you, or—"

His eyebrows knit together as he examined her. "You think I'm mad at _you_?"

Her eyes looked sad. "You haven't talked to me since then, and I just thought—"

He cut her off with a laugh and took a step closer to her, settling his hands on her hips. "I wasn't mad at you," he promised, "You didn't take that video. I'm mad at the media. That was ours, and they…" He shook his head, trying to repress his anger.

Oliver gave her sides a little squeeze, and she finally rose her eyes to meet his. "I don't think I could ever be mad at you," he admitted with a rueful smile.

Margaery finally seemed to relax a little, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I feel a little dumb for trying to run away from you now," she conceded.

"I knew it!"

She laughed, and he pulled her a little closer. "I'm just sorry that you saw how hard this all can be," he continued, "How little privacy I'm afforded. My life is basically fodder for people to gossip about."

To his surprise, she leaned forward on her tip toes and pressed her lips to his. It was much too brief, and if he hadn't been caught off guard, he would have made a move to extend it. He did appreciate her initiative though. "I adjust quickly, remember?" she smiled.

It was one of the highlights of the night. Another was sitting in a dark corner with Mae on his lap as they watched the rich old men that had come to curry favor with his mother fall over themselves trying to impress her. He also loved watching the pure joy on Cassandra's face when she joined the orchestra for a song. And when Reyna took over drink mixing duties and served him up an impressive Moscow mule… that was definitely a plus too.

All in all, the ball was an enormous success. When Oliver was leading his much drunker brother, cousin, and best friend to his room for a sleep over at two in the morning before they prepared for their next day of festivities, he couldn't remember the last time he had been happier.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** This part is a little intense, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks again to everyone who reads/reviews/favs/follows/even clicks on this story ;D

* * *

Oliver felt like a little kid when he woke up.

Well, as much as he could with the lingering taste of liquor in his mouth and the telltale sign of a hangover headache blooming. Despite the fact that they all had rooms on the same floor, Tristan, Elijah, and Everly were all crammed in his extra-large bed as well like they'd used to do when they were children. Miraculously, Oliver had been the soberest of the bunch last night, and it had taken all of his energy just to corral them from the ball room.

He could only imagine the discomfort that Tristan and Everly were going to be in when they woke up, as they had much less experience with drinking than Oliver and Elijah, and he slipped out of bed to get a head start on the recovery. He popped two extra strength aspirins, brushed the taste of alcohol out of his mouth, took a refreshing shower, and managed to summon breakfast from the kitchen before one of the trio in his bed stirred.

"Oh, god," Tristan groaned as Oliver was mixing his bloody Mary (with a much more reasonable tomato juice to vodka ratio than usual). "I'm never drinking again."

Oliver snorted. He'd heard (and said) that one before. "Start that after you drink this," he ordered as he brought the drink to the bed.

Tristan accepted the glass and took a drink. "Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded after he choked the sip down. "Alcohol is the last thing I need right now."

"Hair of the dog, dear brother," Oliver explained, "Here, come eat some grease."

Tristan dragged himself out of the bed and dropped onto the couch beside Oliver. "You really have this down to a science, huh?" Tristan asked as Oliver handed him some medicine.

Oliver shrugged and grabbed a piece of bacon. "You make it sound like something I should put on my résumé."

"You don't have a résumé."

Oliver ignored Tristan. "So are you ready for party number two?" he smirked.

Tristan groaned and put his head in his hands. "You're trying to kill me."

Before he could respond, a loud noise from the other side of the room captured their attention. "Move, move!" Everly ordered as she pushed Elijah out of Oliver's bed, despite the fact that she could have rolled to the other side of the bed. Elijah barely scrambled out of her way in time, and Everly dashed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Tristan grimaced. "Can we agree not to tell Uncle Ahren?" he asked nervously, "He'd kill us."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Everly's seventeen," he countered.

"Which is _not_ the legal drinking age in either of our countries—"

"You worry too much, Tristan," Oliver smirked as he poured his own bloody Mary.

Elijah joined them on the couch, and he looked a little amused. "Well, we finally corrupted the youths," he declared as he raised his glass to Tristan. "I'm proud of us, Ol."

"We?" countered Oliver, "I had to take care of all of your drunk asses last night. It was you, _Lord_ Humboldt."

"Got to admit, it has a nice ring," Elijah grinned. "Do we really have another party today?"

"And a brunch tomorrow," Oliver nodded. "Prepare yourself."

"Prepare my liver is more like it," Elijah quipped.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Everly emerged looking worse for wear. "Help," she moaned as she stumbled to the couch. "Alcohol is poison."

Oliver and Tristan laughed, but he noticed that Elijah put an arm around Everly's shoulders and gave her back a comforting rub. Oliver narrowed his eyes a little as he watched the pair. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed that something was going on between his friend and cousin. It was impossible though. Elijah didn't do relationships any better than he did, and he was too old for Everly, so Oliver wrote it off.

"Hey, we gotta do a quick interview with Coen today," he told Elijah.

"We _just_ did one yesterday," Elijah complained.

"You weren't a lord yesterday," Oliver shrugged. "Mom said something about 'setting the tone for my regime' or some crap like that, so you better get it together and make me look good."

They spent a few hours lounging around and attempting to recover. Oliver felt great and even managed to go for a run before the brief interview with Elijah and Coen. Tristan and Everly had a rougher time, and they spent most of the day prostrate on Oliver's couches. The second party was scheduled to start around six, and it was a miracle that he and Elijah managed to get the pair up in time.

The party had been planned by Isolde, Cameron, Madison, Reyna, Savannah, Laine, and Adelaide. It took place outside in the setting sunlight, and it was exactly what he had envisioned for Saturday's soiree. Located outside on the palace grounds, the girls had planned a cookout style party. There were ribs, hamburgers, veggie burgers, and chicken on the grill, bowls of pasta and macaroni salad, and ears of corn on the cob. There was also a s'mores bar, as well as a blazing bonfire on which to prepare them.

In addition to the great food options, the girls had also come up with plenty of entertainment. Oliver was intrigued by a giant Jenga set up where the pieces were the size of a limb, but there was also a volleyball net set up, ring toss with large glow in the dark pieces instead of the usual small rings, and a Frisbee game that involved hitting the disk into two plastic cans. Music was playing from speakers instead of an orchestra like the previous night, a nice change of pace in Oliver's opinion.

The girls were already milling about when he arrived, dressed in varying degrees of casualness. While his grandma America had often lamented about how dresses were all she was permitted to wear during her Selection, Oliver didn't mind if the girls dressed down some, and several were clad in shorts. Others wore summer dresses and skirts. They looked relaxed and ready to have a good time, which he was glad about.

He was greeted by one of the girls that had planned the event, Lady Savannah. "Welcome, Your Highness," she beamed as she held out a glass of lemonade to him.

"Thank you, Lady Savannah," he replied appreciatively as he took a sip. "You guys did an amazing job with this. It's got everything I was thinking of."

She looked proud. "Good," she responded, "There was a lot of back and forth on the planning, so I'm glad you like it."

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just a lot of strong personalities," she confided, "We had a lot of leaders in our group."

That wasn't surprising. Oliver had a feeling that many of the girls in the Selection were strong leaders with decisive opinions. It wasn't a bad thing, as he could occasionally be wishy washy and needed someone to motivate him at times. "I take it you weren't left in charge of music," Oliver mused as he heard a popular pop song playing, "You're a classical musician, right?"

Savannah nodded, looing excited that he had remembered. She looked hesitant to give her opinion about the music selection, and instead, she changed the subject to the different games that they'd decided on. "We'll have to play this glow in the dark ring toss once the sun goes down a little," Oliver decided. Savannah nodded her agreement, and Oliver excused himself.

He noticed his younger sister sitting at a table with Isolde and Adelaide, and he made his way over to them. "Celine, this is a grown up party," he declared, "No smalls."

Celine rolled her eyes. "You realize I'm taller than some of the girls here, right?" she demanded, arms crossed sassily.

Isolde and Adelaide looked amused. "She has to at least enjoy some of the cooking," Isolde refuted, "Cameron came up with a great menu."

He sighed. "Fine, but you're on babysitting duty," he told Isolde.

Celine looked outraged, but Isolde exchanged a wink with the younger girl and sarcastically replied, "Okay, Oliver."

"Addie, come get a drink with me," Oliver requested, "I'm gonna need one if I have to put up with this lot." He glanced pointedly at Celine and Isolde.

Adelaide laughed and stood. "Of course." Oliver offered his arm, and she happily took it. If she was still unsure after their hot tub incident, she didn't let on, and Oliver wasn't eager to bring it up.

"How was the party planning?" he asked as they headed over to the table where different drinks had been set up.

"Much easier than the dodgeball game that got us on this team," she giggled.

"It was a little brutal," Oliver chuckled in agreement. "I'm glad to see you made it out unharmed though."

Adelaide smiled. "Me too. That would've been a bad way to go out."

"Have you been keeping yourself busy?" Oliver asked as he took a sip of the hard lemonade. It was pretty good, and he guessed that Reyna had probably been in charge of the drink mixing. "Sorry I haven't been around too much lately."

"I understand," Adelaide countered, "But yeah, I've been trying. I've been doing some writing, and Savannah's trying to teach me how to play the piano in the Women's Room a little."

Oliver grinned. "How's it going?"

"Horrible," Adelaide promptly laughed, "I might be the most tone deaf person I've ever met."

Oliver joined her laughter. "Well, you're not alone," he promised, "Celine is the only one in my family besides Grandma Ames who has any musical inclination."

"She's really sweet, your sister," Adelaide smiled as she nodded in the direction of Celine and Isolde. "She's been really helpful and welcoming."

"We talking about the same Celine?" he snorted as he thought of how sneaky and feisty his sister could be.

"Be nice," she ordered playfully, and it amused Oliver to hear sweet, quiet Addie tell him to be nice to his younger sister.

"Yes, Your Highness," he joked.

She smiled, and he wondered if she was thinking of how that title suited her as he was. If she was, she didn't mention it, instead turning her attention to the s'mores station. "How do you feel about dessert before dinner?"

"Love it," Oliver beamed, and they collected their supplies before they settled around the fire. The evening air was starting to set in, and it was just cool enough for Oliver to pull Addie into his lap and wrap his arms around her as she held their marshmallows over the fire.

After a batch of perfect s'mores, Oliver noticed a few of the girls had wandered over to the volleyball net, and he joined them. "Care to join, Your Highness?" Madison asked.

"Only if I'm on your time," Oliver bargained. Being a professional soccer player, Madison incredibly athletic, and he wasn't about to set himself up to get the ball spiked in his face by her.

"Deal," she grinned, "It'll be us against Cameron and Irina."

There were a few things that Oliver learned during the volleyball game. The first was that volleyball was not his sport. He tried to keep up with the girls, but there were a few times that Madison yelled at him when he missed a ball that made him flush with embarrassment. The second thing that he noticed was that Cameron and Irina were nearly as competitive as Madison. If the three girls approached the Selection with the same attitude about winning, Oliver had no doubt that he'd end up married to one of them. They were intense.

"Have you always been into sports?" he asked Madison as the four of them sat in a circle and rehydrated after the game.

She nodded. "I like competition."

He could tell. "How about you guys?" he asked Cameron and Irina.

Cameron laughed. "No," she countered, "I've never played any competitively. I just like winning." Irina nodded her agreement.

"Well, congratulations, ladies," he laughed, "Pretty sure you all just kicked my ass." The girls seemed pleased by this. "Lady Cameron, would you want to take a walk or something?" Oliver added.

She nodded, and he led her through a nearby path of trees. "I felt a little bad about our conversation at the paint and sip," he admitted, "It was a little weird for me to bring up Addie when I was talking to you."

Cameron stiffened. "It's fine," she allowed, although she still looked a little uptight. "We just… don't really know each other, so I wasn't sure what to say."

"Understandable," Oliver shrugged. "So help me get to know Cameron a little better."

She pushed a lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ears. "I have a younger sister," she explained, "She's around Celine's age."

"Are you close?" Oliver asked.

"Uh… kind of," Cameron shrugged, "You know how sisters can be."

Not exactly what he'd been hoping she would share. "Any hobbies?" he asked.

She hesitated for a minute before she said, "I like cooking."

"Oh yeah, I heard you came up with the menu. I haven't gotten to eat much yet, but everything smells great."

She beamed under the praise. "Thanks," she smiled, "It's just a little hobby. Glad it finally came in handy."

"Have you ever thought about being a chef?" Oliver asked.

Cameron's brow furrowed. "Uh… not really," she admitted, "My family have always been involved in more public endeavors, so I always just thought I'd do something like that."

Oliver shrugged. "If cooking's something that you really like, it might be worth considering," he pointed out.

"I guess," she agreed slowly. They chatted a little more before they parted ways, but he could tell that she was seriously mulling over his suggestion throughout the remainder of their conversation.

After volleyball, he decided to take a step back from the competitive events and instead spent some time talking with the girls. He and Presley bonded over the fact that they both desperately loved the song "Build Me Up Buttercup" (and maybe had a sing along as well). He tried making another s'more with Brynn, but she accidentally lit the marshmallows on fire so they decided to snag some popsicles instead. One of his favorite moments was showing Rosalie how to do shots of tequila after she had made the mistake of mentioning that she'd never had the drink when they were standing at the bar. He'd felt bad afterwards when she'd coughed at the burning liquid, but her enthusiasm to try something new was sweet and he appreciated it.

He decided to grab some food after playing a game of ring toss with Savannah and trying the Frisbee game Everly, who was still a little sick, and as he scanned the tables that the girls had set up, he noticed that Laine was sitting alone finishing up her own dinner. "Mind if I take a seat?" he asked as he joined her.

She smiled up at him. "Of course not." Although he hadn't gotten to spend much time with Laine yet, Oliver had continually noticed the girl. She was extremely pretty, with chin length strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes. It was a strange thing to notice, but she also had an elegant walk, and Oliver recalled that she was a dancer.

"You guys did an awesome job," he complimented, "This is exactly what I was thinking for today."

"Good contrast to the big ball," she smiled.

"Exactly," he agreed. "So, Laine, what's been your favorite part about the Selection so far?"

"Hmm…" Her face grew serious as she considered the question before it brightened. "Meeting so many people from different backgrounds," she declared, "All of us girls are so different."

There was a very wide variety of girls with different personalities and backgrounds, so Oliver understood what she meant. "Is everyone getting along?" he asked somewhat nervously.

"For the most part," Laine shrugged, "Brynn and Rosalie are both really nice. And everyone loves Isolde."

Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course everyone liked the one girl that he couldn't get to like him. The injustice. "What made you enter the Selection?" he questioned.

She shrugged. "Adventure? A chance in the spotlight?" Her green eyes twinkled.

"You don't get that as a dancer?" he asked.

"My family's all in entertainment," she explained, "Sometimes I just feel a little overshadowed."

He could understand that. If his family was put in a popularity contest, Oliver certainly wasn't winning. "Well, it's good to have you here," he declared, "Would you want to go on a private adventure sometime this upcoming week?"

Her eyes twinkled with excitement. "Yes."

After he was done eating, he played a game of giant Jenga with Elijah that attracted the attention of many of the girls. By the time they were done (Oliver won), they had quite the crowd. Oliver figured that was as good a time as any to thank them for the work that they had done to help celebrate Elijah's birthday. He had Reyna pour shots, repressed a laugh as Everly blanched as one was passed to her, and toasted his friend before they tossed them back.

"We do have one more surprise," Laine mentioned from her position to his left side. The other girls that had helped plan the party exchanged excited looks and they led the group to an area where there were multiple blow up pools filled with pillows and blankets awaiting them. There was a large projection screen set up as well, and the menu screen for a new movie about World War IV was broadcast on it.

"We're having a movie night," Addie explained excitedly.

The girls seemed to like the idea, which Oliver had to admit was pretty creative. The pools were big and spacious, and the crowded in together. He was left with Elijah, Everly, and Tristan in his own pool, and he made himself comfortable as he waited for the movie to start.

While it might not have been the most elegant affair that he'd ever been to, Oliver was pretty pleased with the party. The only complaint he had as he laid in his blow up pool was the fact that he only had his usual companions. He had expected at least one of the girls to invite him to his pool, but they seemed content to hang out with each other for the duration of the movie. In fact, not one had approached him before it had started. Even Cameron, Xylie, and Irina—who did not go out of their way to make friends—seemed content to lay in their pool whispering amongst each other.

On one hand, he was glad to see them getting along. He knew that his grandmothers had become lifelong friends during their Selection, and both of his parents still kept in contact with many of the men from his mother's Selection.

On the other, he was still a little disappointed that he didn't have more clarity. He'd hoped to meet the girls and be able to figure out which was the one for him. The fact that he didn't know that made him worry.

His ponderings were cut short when he saw a small figure approaching from the direction of the palace. It was small, definitely a girl, and she reached the pool closest to her and bent to speak with one of the occupants. There was some pointing, and the figure dashed to a different pool, looking a little frantic.

"Celine again," Oliver sighed to Tristan, "I _told_ her this was a grown up party."

"Want me to get her?" Tristan asked, not removing his eyes from the movie screen.

It wasn't necessary, as Celine soon hurried over to them. It turned out that she had collected Isolde, and she clung to the older girl's hand with worry on her face. "Oliver," Celine whispered, "You have to come see this."

The concern in her voice was enough to drag Tristan's attention away from the movie, and he and Oliver shared an apprehensive look. "What's going on, Cel?" Oliver asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Come on," she insisted as she grabbed his arm and pulled.

It was rare that Celine was so disconcerted, so Oliver stood. "Need me to come?" Tristan asked, his eyes jumping from his siblings to Isolde.

Oliver shook his head. "It's okay, just hold the party down. I don't want to worry anyone."

Celine wouldn't tell Oliver what was going on the entire trip back to the palace. It wasn't until they had made it all the way to the royal family's floor and into Celine's room that she even explained why she had brought Isolde with them. "I thought Isolde might know what to do," she frowned as she opened her computer and turned it for Oliver to see.

If Oliver never saw his face plastered in some kind of magazine or news source ever again, it would be too soon. The website appeared to be some kind of blog, and the headline read, "Behind Palace Walls: An Inside Look at the Royal Family." Right under the title, along with the picture that had been submitted with her application for the Selection, was the name Evelyn Keegan.

Oliver's eyes quickly scanned the supposed expose. What angered him wasn't so much the fact that Evelyn had exploited her position as a member of the Selected but the fact that she lied throughout the article to make it more interesting. More so than that, the fact that she had included his family in it made Oliver's temper soar, a new kind of fury enveloping him. She'd even taken direct quotes from him, his parents, his siblings, all twisted to sell the story. Already the comments and shares were piling up on the website.

"I knew that I'd heard her name somewhere before the Selection," Celine explained, looking worried. "She's mostly a lifestyle blogger, recipes, hair tutorials, things like that."

The more manageable denunciations in the piece accused him of lacking the same grace and capability of Illéa's beloved Queen Eadlyn (fair). He was accused of nepotism, Elijah's recent promotion cited as an example, and of being disinterested in the Selection, as Evelyn explained how he only focused on a few girls and the others seemed to be there for show. The worst allegations turned the sibling rivalry between he and Tristan into a full-fledged war, making it sound as though Tristan was willing to challenge his brother for the throne.

The more he read, the harder it was for Oliver to keep calm. By the time he came to the end of the salacious blog post, the fingers that gripped the computer were white, and he'd bitten the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. "Bring me Evelyn Keegan," he ordered the guard posted at Celine's door. He nodded and quickly took his leave.

"Oliver," Celine whispered in a small voice, "That's not the worst part."

His head was spinning. "Not the worst part?" he demanded. "What could possibly be worse than someone that I invited into our home writing this-this—"

"Marid Illéa."

As if Oliver weren't angry enough about Evelyn's betrayal, the mention of Marid Illéa was enough to make him see red. Marid Illéa had been a thorn in his family's side for far too long. He was a smarmy sort, and his father hated him for some stunt that he had pulled during Eadlyn's Selection to try to undermine her and weasel his way onto the throne. Despite Eadlyn's evasion of his more ludicrous stunts, they were forced to save face where the Illéas were concerned, and as a result, they were always invited to important events at the castle.

Although Oliver didn't mind Marid's children, Alaric and Regan, who both lacked the same sort of scheming, power hungry disposition of their father, tensions had risen last year when Marid had somehow managed to marry his daughter, Regan, to a Russian prince. Illéa had always had an uneasy peace with Russia since the end of the Fourth World War, and Marid's sudden interest in the country didn't help.

"What has Marid done now?" Oliver ground out.

"He publicly declared his support for Tristan as king."

He turned to see his mother and brother standing in the doorway behind him. Eadlyn's statement felt like a physical blow, and he was embarrassed when Isolde reached out to put a steadying hand on his arm. "Why would he do that?" Oliver demanded, "Wasn't it just a few years ago that he was boasting about how Alaric should be king?"

Eadlyn looked tired and much older than her modest forty-three. "Alaric has entered a seminary," she explained, "Marid knows he's lost his chance to make his son king."

"So what, he's gonna take Tristan under his wing now?" Oliver scoffed, his voice rising.

"Stop yelling," Eadlyn swiftly ordered, "I will not allow Marid Illéa to whip us into a frenzy."

Oliver's gaze jumped to his brother. It was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago he'd been walking Tristan through surviving his first hangover. Now, it felt like they'd never been more disconnected. Although he hated himself for it, Oliver's eyes narrowed.

Eadlyn caught this, and her own face softened. "Oliver, he's trying to divide you," she explained, "He's trying to divide _us_. Right now, being united against this silly blog and anything that Marid says is the best thing that we can do."

"Should we hold a press conference?" Celine suggested hopefully. "Set the record straight?"

They were all shocked when Isolde spoke. "No," she countered confidently. She flushed a little when Eadlyn turned her gaze to her, but she didn't abandon her stance. "It calls attention to it if you take time out to specifically refute the article and denounce Marid. If you address it during _The Report_ like any other state matter, it seems less important and makes the people think that they shouldn't find it important either."

Eadlyn studied Isolde for a moment before a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Very wise, Lady Isolde," she admitted. "I think it's a good idea for the Selected to have a discussion with Coen about the article as well. We all know these are lies, Oliver, and I'm sure that the Selected that want to be here will have plenty to say in support of you."

"I can prepare them," Isolde offered, "Maybe help them to come up with answers to the sort of questions that Coen could ask."

Eadlyn nodded, but Oliver didn't feel comforted. "Is it going to be enough for have my mommy and girlfriends stick up for me?" he frowned, irritated with how helpless he felt. "We're just rehashing the same thing that's been said a million times: I'm not fit to be king, and everyone thinks so."

"Oliver." His mother's voice was firm, almost angry itself, and when their identical hazel eyes met, Eadlyn's were blazing. "Don't do that." It was all she needed to say, and Oliver flushed under her disapproval. She had always taught her children to be confident in themselves, and she didn't tolerate self-pity, even in a situation that felt so out of his hands.

"Your Highness." Celine's guard had returned with Evelyn in tow as requested. She looked nervous to be confronted with so many members of the royal family, as Oliver was sure she knew what her summons was about.

"We'll leave you to it," Eadlyn declared as she beckoned Tristan and Celine from the room. Isolde moved to make her departure as well, but Oliver caught her wrist.

"Stay?" he requested. She looked uncomfortable with the situation, but she nodded. He turned to Evelyn and squared his shoulders, determined not to show her how much trouble her stupid article had caused him. "Sit," he ordered as he gestured to Celine's couch.

She did so, and Oliver picked up the computer, dropping it onto coffee table before her. The noise made both Isolde and Evelyn jump. "You've been busy," he commented. "I always thought it was kind of funny how you always seemed to have so many questions. For me. My family. The Selected."

Evelyn didn't look at him. "Look, I'm sorry if—"

"No, you're not," Oliver spat. "I can understand being apologetic if you had published an honest story about your time here and my family. That would have just been an invasion of our privacy. But these are lies. You made a conscious decision to portray us falsely in order to get your stupid blog more readers, so don't try to tell me that you're sorry for anything."

She was silent, but Oliver wasn't done. "I will say that you're a magnificent fiction writer. It's a shame that no newspaper, magazine, website, news channel, radio show, even the most menial of publications will hire you after this," he sighed with mock anguish. "Dare I say it might be downright impossible to get a job in the media or journalism with the most powerful family in Illéa as your enemy."

Evelyn's gaze jumped to Oliver for the first time since she had entered the room. "Oliver—" His eyes flashed dangerously, and she amended, "Your Highness, please this is my dream. All I've ever wanted is to be a journalist."

Oliver snapped. His arm swept forward and knocked Celine's laptop onto the floor. It landed with a crash, and the screen went black on Evelyn's article. " _This_ isn't journalism," he snarled, "If you want to report the facts, then do it. But you're fabricating lies for a _little_ attention, and I don't respect anyone who can make a career out of someone else's pain."

Evelyn's eyes were full of tears, though he wasn't sure if they were the result of his outburst or the threat of being barred from her dream job. But Oliver couldn't find any pity for her, nor did he regret the way he had responded. "I want you out of the palace tonight," he ordered. He nodded at the guard that had brought her in, and Evelyn was led away.

He felt a little exhausted once he was alone with Isolde, and he dropped onto the couch. "Well, am I a PR nightmare?" he asked, glancing up at the blonde girl.

"Well," she sighed, and he was glad to see that she didn't seem intimidated by him after his burst of anger, "It might have been in your interest to try to bribe her and get her to retract the article instead of crushing her dreams."

He started to protest, the idea of Evelyn getting something out of such a heinous situation making his stomach churn, but Isolde cut him off. "But I understand why you reacted the way that you did," she admitted as she joined him on the couch.

He dropped his head against the back of the couch. "I have to buy Celine a new computer now. Great."

They were silent for a moment before Isolde said, "My mother has had dependency problems for most of my life. The last time that she fell off the wagon, I broke a window."

Oliver's eyebrows knit as he turned to face her. It wasn't something that he had expected to ever hear from the ever calm and collected Isolde. "We all lose control sometimes," she shrugged. "Congratulations, it just means you're human." She took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, now you've seen one of my worst sides," he mused, "You about to take advantage of that easy out option that I gave you?"

Her face looked thoughtful, as though she was really just beginning to see Oliver. "The first time I met you, I thought that you were every bit as rude and irresponsible as the magazines make you seem," Isolde admitted, "And after our date, while I had a good time, I was still unsure. You were so charming and charismatic, but I was kind of disappointed. It all seemed a little surface level."

"And now?"

Isolde frowned. "I don't know how you do it," she shrugged with a sad look. "Not just being prince, but dealing with everything. Marid and the public and all of the lies and the misconceptions and attacks on your family."

"It's not one of the perks of the job," Oliver sighed bitterly.

She shifted a little closer to him, which surprised Oliver but was a welcome development. "I'm not leaving," she declared, "Not now or… No matter how this Selection turns out, Oliver, I'm here for you. I don't want this thing with Evelyn to make it harder for you to trust people. I can see…" She bit her lip, nervous to continue.

"What can you see?" Oliver asked as he turned towards her.

She looked apologetic. "Just that it's hard for you to trust people already. I'm sure everything with your brother doesn't help."

Oliver snorted. "Tristan and I will always be complicated, I suppose," he concluded. He glanced out Celine's window and saw the illumination from the film that the Selected were still probably watching, blissfully unaware of the drama within the castle walls. "Want to go back out?" he asked, turning to Isolde.

She made a face. "Not really," she admitted.

"Me neither," he sighed.

"My grandmother always told me that chocolate made anything better," she suggested.

Oliver laughed. "Your grandmother and my Grandma Ames would get along," he noted, "But sounds like as good a plan as any." They headed down to the kitchen together and were soon raiding the cupboards for anything chocolatey. Their search produced a half-eaten Hershey bar and pudding cup.

"For a palace, you're not very well stocked on the sweets," Isolde noted when they'd finished their less than gourmet desserts.

"Hey, give us a break," countered Oliver, "We're on our second day of parties here. Besides, it didn't stop you from putting away that pudding cup pretty fast."

She laughed, but the sound was cut short when a figure appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Tristan's eyes skipped to Isolde, and the smile that he produced looked forced. "Lady Isolde, would you mind if I spoke to my brother for a moment?"

"Uh, yes, of course," Isolde replied. She cast a smile at each of the brothers before she slipped past Tristan and out of the kitchen.

"Come on, Tris, I probably could have gotten her to pity kiss me," Oliver joked.

Tristan's smiled weakly as he joined Oliver at the island. "I've been thinking about Marid," he admitted.

"Don't," Oliver advised, "It'll just piss you off, and Isolde ate the rest of the comfort chocolate."

"I think I should abdicate."

Oliver nearly choked on the square of chocolate he'd been eating. "What?" he demanded.

"I think I should renounce my claim on the throne," Tristan repeated. His face was calm, and Oliver was about ninety percent sure he wasn't joking.

"I think you should be king," Tristan continued, "I _want_ you to be king. You're the one who was raised for it and knows how to do it. Just because people think I'm better equipped doesn't actually mean that I am. And if I do this, then Marid loses all his steam."

There was quiet as Oliver contemplated his brother's words. "You would give up your place in the line of succession for me?"

"Of course," Tristan replied quickly and confidently, like it wasn't even a question for him. "I'm tired of this conversation and letting people debate whether I should do a job that I've never even wanted. And look, I... I saw the way you looked at me when Mom was talking about Marid." Oliver instantly felt guilty as he remembered the way that he'd glared at his brother. "I don't want them to be able to do this to us. You're my brother, Oliver, and my best friend."

Oliver frowned. "If it's not you, it'll just be Celine," he mentioned.

Tristan shrugged, as though this was simple. "So change the law," Tristan ordered, "Enact the male preference primogeniture, and Celine won't have a claim either. She doesn't want to be queen."

He didn't find this comforting. "And if I don't have an heir, the throne is ripe for Marid's picking anyway," he rationalized. "I appreciate the offer, but mom's right. We just have to fight Marid together."

Tristan sighed. "You ever get tired of fighting?"

The answer that Oliver wanted to give was _yeah, basically every day._ Instead, he saw the exhaustion and worry behind Tristan's eyes, and he squared his shoulders and raised his chin like the Schreave that he was. "No," he lied with his usual reckless grin. Tristan looked a little comforted by his brother's tenacity, which made Oliver's act worth it.

If only he believed his lie as much as Tristan did.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Thank you to my ever loyal readers and reviewers :) Hopefully I'll have another update this sometime weekend.

* * *

Given the events of Saturday night, the brunch on Sunday had been canceled. Oliver had been prepared to soldier through, but Elijah had stopped by late on Saturday after Everly had filled him in and insisted that they take the day off. Oliver felt bad for the girls who had worked on the event, but Tristan and Elijah assured him they weren't too upset when the two had gone to break the news.

Although he had tried to assure Isolde that the Evelyn situation wouldn't make it harder for him to trust people, it turned out it was easier said than done. He spent most of Sunday pouring over the Selected's files, looking for anything that they had missed, any sign that they would be the next to betray him.

It was exhausting. The palace had always been the one place that Oliver felt like he didn't have to constantly be on guard, and that had been taken away. He spent Sunday in his room and only appeared on Monday for dinner with the Selected, none of which he spoke with. His family and even Elijah tried engaging the girls until it became abundantly clear that Oliver had no interest in participating, at which point a heavy silence settled over the room.

On Tuesday, he heard from Tristan that one of Eadlyn's council members, Lord Buckley, had approached her with concern over the fact that there were no dates planned for the week. Buckley had pointed out that it didn't look good to the public to see Oliver ignoring his duties with the Selection after everything that Evelyn had said. Oliver understood where Buckley was coming from, but he was grateful when Tristan said their mom had sent Buckley running from her presence with a scathing reply about all the sacrifices Oliver had already been forced to make.

So with the queen's support, he laid low. He took his meals in his room on Wednesday to avoid another awkward dinner and gave Anderson orders to rebuff all visitors with the exception of Tristan. He divided his time between watching news specials about Evelyn's article (including an irritating post-dismissal interview where she tearfully wept about Oliver's anger while Marid Illéa patted her back and declared that mercy seemed to be another virtue that Oliver lacked) and combing through the Selected's files.

If there was one thing that Oliver hated most ardently, it was being made a fool of. Evelyn had blinded sided him and accomplished that, but he swore it would be the last time. He was determined to never be surprised by any of the girls ever again.

On Thursday, he finally emerged, if only because Anderson refused to let him send his maids away again. It was the first time that they had been allowed entrance since Saturday, and he'd made quite a mess in his solitude, so it wasn't as easy to ignore them this time. So instead, he dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt and made his way out into the crisp morning air for a run.

Despite Angeles's typically warm climate, mornings, particularly in the fall and winter, had a tendency to be quite cool before the sun gathered height in the sky. It was Oliver's preferred time to run, without the heat beating on him, and it gave him a chance to clear his mind.

He was already committed to planning any dates that week. _The Report_ was in two days so there wasn't much time for that anyway. And although he knew there were girls that he should be spending more time with and trying to determine whether they had a genuine connection, like Cameron and Samantha, he wasn't going to do it this week. He decided to play things close to the vest for the time being. If he did seek out any girls individually, they would be people he already felt comfortable around.

His thoughts had occupied him so thoroughly that he didn't notice a figure approaching him until she smiled and raised a hand in greeting. "Long time, no see," Mae noted breathlessly as they both slowed to a stop. She had obviously been on a run as well, dressed in a black sports bra and black shorts and her tan skin glistening.

"Hi," Oliver replied tightly, unwilling to address his recent absence.

Mae's eyebrows knitted together in concern, but she tried to smooth her face back into its carefree smile. "How have you been?" she asked. It sounded light, airy, unconcerned, but Oliver noticed the way she nervously plucked at one of the strings that dangled from her shorts.

Aside from a select few, he might have lied to anyone else and said fine. Instead, he shrugged. "Just felt a little weird lately."

Mae nodded. "I can understand why." She hesitated for a moment before she added, "We all do."

He nodded briefly and saw a frown line appear on Mae's forehead. For some reason, it amused him to see her look unsure and not on top of the situation. Probably because it was such a rarity. "I should probably be getting back," he announced, "Got a lot to do today."

She looked surprised by the quick dismissal, and her mouth popped open a little. "Of course," she agreed after a brief second, "Have a good day, Your Majesty."

She remained rooted to her spot as Oliver picked up a light jog and carried on. Before he'd gotten too far away, he heard her call after him. "Hey. Wait."

His amusement grew as he paused. It wasn't often that people told him to wait or yelled 'hey' at him. Mae's face looked determined as she walked closer. "I just wanted to tell you…" She huffed, as though unsure of what she was trying to say. "I just know what it's like to be feeling down and not sure of who you can trust, but…"

Then all the hesitation was gone, and her blazing green eyes landed on his face. "I'm here for you," she declared, "And not just in that cheesy 'I'm here if you need a shoulder to cry on' way, but in the sense that I am in this competition for _you_. In the beginning, yeah, it was a great way to spend a few weeks and make some cash. But now…" She looked flustered, as though it was a realization she hadn't fully processed yet, and shrugged. "We're not all Evelyn, waiting for a chance to get some dirt and make a name, so don't treat us like we are."

And then before he could say anything, she turned and walked firmly back to the palace doors, her back straight and head held high.

Oliver frowned and made a mental note to ask his grandfather if the girls in his Selection had been so vocal. Between Isolde, Mae, and Presley, he felt like he was constantly getting scolded for something.

He mulled over Mae's words for a few miles. By the time he returned to the palace, he was sweaty, gross, and had already missed breakfast once more. There was a tray sitting on a side table in his room as had become routine for the last few days, and after his shower, he grabbed a few pieces off of it before he turned to Anderson. "Well, how do I look?"

Anderson looked confused. "Is this a trick question, sir?"

"It's finally time to bust out of my cave," Oliver declared. "You know, get back to life, maybe talk to some people other than you and Rhonda from the kitchens."

"Likely a wise decision, sire," Anderson agreed, "You seem appropriately dressed for your return to society."

Oliver gave his butler a thumbs up and took a bite out of the blueberry muffin he'd grabbed from his tray. "Here goes nothing," he mumbled as he made his way towards the Women's Room.

The first time Oliver had called the Women's Room stupid, he'd been five years old and waiting outside with his grandfather Maxon. Grandfather had chastised him not to say stupid and explained that the Women's Room was a sanctuary for his mother, her ladies, and any guests that his mother had. Annoyed with the idea that there was somewhere his mother liked to go that he wasn't allowed, Oliver had declared his quarters the Men's Room and refused to grant any lady entrance for an entire year in retaliation. His father had to put him to bed every night while Eadlyn watched from the doorway.

While Oliver didn't think that the Women's Room was _quite_ as stupid anymore, he was always irritated when he had to wait outside the door while his presence was relayed to the inhabitants so they could decide whether to admit him or not. The guards at the door informed him that none of his family members were present but that the Selected had acquiesced.

The Women's Room was enormous with high windows and light colored walls. There were plenty of white couches spread around the room, as well as numerous different tables, a television, and a piano. When Oliver walked in, the Selected all rose and curtsied.

Only a handful of the girls were present, which he wasn't upset about, since it was easier to interact with them in smaller groups. Adelaide and Savannah were seated at the piano in what appeared to be a lesson; Cassandra and Gabrielle occupied the same table, although Gabrielle seemed to be focused on painting her nails while Cassandra was hunched over some sheet music; Presley and Eleanor relaxed on one of the couches, a textbook in the lap of the former while the latter had her nose buried in a novel; and the other six girls in the room were all placed around a larger table with a board game spread out in front of them.

"Hello," he said with a tight smile. "I just thought that I'd stop by, see what goes on in this secret room."

He noticed Samantha smile, and he remembered how they had discussed potential visits to the Women's Room at the ball. She probably thought that he was following up on his promise to stop by, which Oliver preferred rather to them knowing that Mae had essentially goaded him into it. "We were just about to start a game of Monopoly," Samantha offered, "If you'd like to play."

He joined the larger table, and a seat was quickly cleared for him. "I've never played," he admitted as he looked at the strange game.

"It doesn't matter," Esther assured him, "Xylie always wins anyway. She's ruthless." Xylie grinned broadly at this assertion.

Oliver wasn't sure how many games of Monopoly they'd engaged in, but it was obvious that the girls were serious about the outcome.

The first thing he realized about the game was that it took _forever_. They were playing so long that he had lunch delivered to the Women's Room, as they couldn't leave without declaring a winner. The second was that the girls were all cutthroat. Whenever one of them tried to trade with him for a property, they all got involved, each telling him why he shouldn't do it if it didn't benefit them. Additionally, they took scads of money from each other with glee, the delight when they bankrupted their fellow players obvious.

The worst was when he landed on one of Samantha's stupid hotels. "That'll be twelve hundred fifty dollars," she declared.

Oliver glanced at his meager sums of money. "Uh, do you take IOUs?"

"Afraid not," she countered.

"Even from your sovereign?" he tried. Samantha beamed and gave a shake of her head, her wavy hair flopping over her shoulders.

Oliver pushed all of his money and already mortgaged properties towards her. "You should be ashamed, all of you," he declared, "Leaving your future king in such a vulnerable position." They all laughed, but then Esther picked up the dice to take her turn, Oliver's misfortune completely forgotten.

He stood to visit some of the girls. Gabrielle smiled as he approached and nudged Cassandra, who glanced up from her sheet music only long enough for a quick twitch of her lips before she glanced down again. "She's working on her masterpiece," Gabrielle explained as she dragged a file across one of her nails. She sounded exasperated but affectionate, and Oliver figured that their friendship had grown since the first pool party.

Cassandra's fingers were drumming on the table as though she was trying to play the piece in progress. "Hopefully we'll be lucky enough to hear it soon, Lady Cassandra," Oliver offered. She didn't respond and instead grabbed her pencil and viciously erased a few notes.

"How are you after… everything?" Gabrielle asked, her blue eyes full of pity. "I still can't believe that she'd do something like that." Her face was stormy, as though she was personally offended by Evelyn's conduct.

Oliver shrugged. "I'm okay," he tried, "Just had a lot to work on recently."

Gabrielle's eyes twinkled, like she didn't quite believe that was the cause for his absence, but she didn't argue it. "Of course, you do have a country to run," she agreed. "Can we hope to see more of you next week?"

"Provided no one decides to write any more salacious articles," Oliver quipped. He tried to laugh, but the sound died in his throat, and he excused himself.

He wasn't sure where Eleanor had gone off to, but he took up her free seat on the couch next to Presley. "Studying?" he asked as he briefly scanned her textbook.

She nodded. "My professors are letting me finish the semester online, thankfully," she explained. "Makes it a little harder to not be able to get the lectures in person, but I'm managing."

Before he could respond, she marked her page, closed her book, and turned her dark, chocolatey eyes on him. "Oh no," Oliver grimaced at the expression on her face. "Am I in for an ear full?"

Presley smiled but didn't refute his suspicion. "Glad you finally decided to give up your self-imposed isolation," she noted.

"Well, there's something about being spied on from the comfort of your own home that just encourages solitude," he bantered.

The smile waned slightly. "It was a really terrible thing, but you can't let one bad experience mar the whole thing for you," she pointed out.

"I know," Oliver sighed, "Hence I'm here. Continuing on in my vein of making an effort, do you want to do something tonight?"

Her gaze flickered for a moment. "Why me?" she asked.

Oliver shrugged. "I'm comfortable around you," he explained, "I don't have to wonder or worry. Those are the kinds of people that I want to be around right now."

His reasoning seemed to be good enough, for her face relaxed, and she agreed. Oliver promised to find her after dinner and stood. He was a little curious where the other girls were, so he said his goodbyes in the Women's Room and headed out. He was just making his way down the hall when he spied his brother and Isolde approaching, both of their faces contorted in frowns.

"Hey," Oliver greeted them, causing Isolde to jump away from Tristan's side, "Where were you guys? I just stopped by the Women's Room."

Tristan hastily clasped his hands behind his back. "We had to… we were just…"

"Sending a letter," Isolde finished without missing a beat. "I realized I hadn't written my dad yet, so I figured I'd better do that."

Tristan and Isolde both looked guilty, and Oliver's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you have in your hand?" he asked Tristan, as he spied what looked like a rolled up magazine.

"Nothing," Tristan insisted, keeping his hands firmly behind him. "We were just—"

Oliver rolled his eyes, side stepped his brother, and snatched the magazine from his hands. Evelyn smiled on the cover, along with the previously eliminated Molly. The headline declared, "Selection Tell-All." Oliver closed his eyes and exhaled slowly as his hand clenched around the glossy paper. "Has Mom seen it?"

"Yeah," Tristan replied in a small voice, "She's had Miss Neena stonewalling all requests for comment."

"Good," Oliver responded, his hazel eyes hard. "We're done talking to the media. From now on, Coen is the only one with any access to the royal family. That's how it was with Gavril, and it never should have changed." He turned his gaze to Isolde. "Do you know where the other girls are? I stopped by the Women's Room, but there were only a few there."

Isolde thought about it for a moment before she offered, "The sun room?"

"Thanks." Oliver tried to smile at them—it probably looked like more of a grimace than anything—before he headed off in the direction of the sun room. He figured Isolde's guess had been right, as he heard a hum of conversation as he approached. He was about to enter and greet the ladies when he caught wind of his name. Against his better judgement, he paused near the slightly ajar door.

"Oliver just doesn't seem to care," a voice—Madison?—declared. "Maybe everything that Evelyn said wasn't true, but I don't think it was all that far outside the realm of possibility."

"The Selection wasn't his choice," Cameron pointed out, "I think we all know that. But I guess I thought he'd work a little harder at it."

Oliver bit his lip as his temper rose. He _wanted_ to tell them all that they had no clue what they were talking about. But he remained rooted to the spot. Luckily, a new voice interjected. "I think you're all being very unfair to him," Adelaide huffed, sounding more forceful than he had heard her yet. "He has so much going on. And he really makes an effort. This can't be easy. The Selection starts the process of taking over for the Queen."

Someone laughed—Ebony, he thought—before she added, "And that's why we're all here, isn't it? For the money, fame, power that getting to be his queen would bring."

They started talking over each other at that point, but it was no use. Oliver had abandoned his intention of joining them, his temper close to its breaking point, and he returned to his room. "Back to the cave so soon, sir?" Anderson quipped before he took note of Oliver's expression. Anderson's face fell, and he bowed shortly to Oliver before he took his leave.

Oliver paced for a few moments before he turned to his liquor cabinet and procured a bottle of vodka. He splashed a little into a glass and tossed it back, the liquid igniting his sinuses. It didn't help, though, he realized bitterly as his fist closed around the small glass in his hand. He stared at the cup for a long moment before he pulled his arm back and sent it careening into the ground. It shattered on impact, the noise relieving the slightest bit of Oliver's tension.

He'd heard that his great grandfather, King Clarkson, had an explosive temper. His family didn't talk about him much, but Oliver had read in history books that the king was "strict and decisive." His Grandma Ames never reflected on him warmly. But there were times that Oliver wondered if he was more like his great grandfather than anyone else in his family. He didn't have his grandfather Maxon's cool, level head. He didn't have his mother's quiet confidence. He wasn't unerringly kind like Tristan.

So what was he?

He was beginning to think just an angry, immature child with a future too big and scary for him.

Dinner would be served soon, but Oliver didn't care. There was no was going to sit there while they all judged him and formed their little opinions. Instead, he picked up the bottle of vodka and headed a few doors down to Elijah's room.

He threw open the door, and Elijah sighed. "There's this really novel idea," he declared, "It's called _knocking_. You should try it some time." He glanced up when Oliver didn't laugh like usual and frowned. "Everything okay?"

"We've been cooped up in this palace for too long," Oliver decided grimly. He held up the bottle. Elijah hesitantly took it, though it seemed he was more interested in separating it from Oliver than drinking it. "Let's do something tonight."

Elijah's eyebrows knit together. "I can't tonight," he frowned, "I've got to do this thing with Everly—for the Selection. Tristan wants us to… come up with ideas for dates."

"There won't be any dates for a while," Oliver countered darkly, "Come on, Everly can do it on her own. She's got enough romantic delusions for all of us."

Elijah looked conflicted. "What happened?" he asked. "I saw Presley earlier, and she said you were actually hanging out today—"

"That was a mistake." Oliver laughed bitterly. "Nothing I ever do is going to be enough. So why do I keep trying? Come _on,_ Elijah. Let's just go do something crazy, like we used to before all of this bullshit started." He poured two shots and held one out to his friend expectantly.

Elijah accepted it, though he still looked tense. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it's not," smirked Oliver, "Aren't those my best ideas, though?" He clinked his glass against Elijah's, and they choked down the fiery liquid.

It was easy to convince Elijah after a few drinks. They called Jonathan—who turned a disappointed gaze on Oliver that he did his best to ignore—and soon, they were speeding away from the palace in their usual black SUV. They had decided to go to their favorite club in Angeles, a little place Opium. His mother had always hated the place on principle (" _Even the name has a terrible connotation, Oliver"_ ), but the owners always worked to make sure Oliver was well accommodated.

When the car pulled up at the back, the owner's daughter, Petra, met them outside. She was a tall, lithe girl with auburn hair, and calculating eyes. Petra knew what was good for business, and keeping the royals happy was definitely one of them. "Your Highness," she beamed, "What a pleasant surprise. We haven't been expecting you given the, ah, situation you find yourself in."

"No Selection talk," Oliver ordered, as he threw an arm around Petra's shoulders, "And no business for you tonight. Come hang out with Elijah and I at our table."

The club was just as Oliver remembered. Loud, dark, crowded. Well, for the regular people. Oliver sat on a plush velvet couch in a roped off VIP section with Elijah and Petra while Jonathan and the club's usual security guarded their area. Bottles of champagne, liquor, anything he wanted littered the table in front of him. Petra seemed to be paying a special amount of attention to the new Lord Humboldt, and although Oliver knew that he should've been happy, he felt restless as his eyes scanned the club.

What he wouldn't have given to be one of them. Maybe they didn't have the same luxuries that Oliver had, but their futures were entirely their own.

As his eyes swept over the crowd, Oliver noticed a familiar face and sent Jonathan to bring the man and his friends closer. He knew the guy was the son of one of the executive members of Eastern Commerce, a bank that lent money to the crown in times of unrest or trouble. He'd seen him around at some official events. As the man approached, Oliver racked his brain for his name. Kevin? Carlos?

Carlos bowed in greeting. "Your Highness."

Oliver smiled. "Your father's part of Eastern Commerce, right?" he asked, "Ayers, isn't it?"

Carlos looked excited that Oliver had remembered him, which was one of the perks of Oliver's station. People felt special if Oliver remembered the smallest detail about them. "Yes, Your Highness," he beamed. "I'm Kaleb. I think we met last year at a charity polo match."

"Kaleb, of course," Oliver nodded. He liked Carlos better. He glanced around at Kaleb's group of friends and noted that he had a number of girls with him. "Would you and your friends like to join us?"

Jonathan looked exasperated as he and another security guard had to search all of the guests before they were allowed to join the prince. A waitress poured them all drinks as they settled into the VIP area. "To friendship," Oliver declared as he raised his glass, his eyes on a girl with dark blonde, almost brown hair, that was part of Kaleb's group.

Kaleb mimicked Oliver's toast, and they chugged their glasses of champagne. The rest of the night was a blur.

Oliver awoke with a start the next morning as something hit him. "What's happening?" he gasped as he glanced around. His mother was standing before him, her face hard as steel, and his grandfather Maxon was behind her. He looked less angry but more disappointed. Oliver realized his mother had hit him with the newspaper.

" _Look_ at it."

He sighed and pulled himself into a sitting position, his head pounding. The photo was grainy, as though taken in the dark, but it was still damning enough. He and Elijah sat beside each other in the VIP section of Opium, Petra on Elijah's lap while the girl he'd met from Kaleb Ayer's group was seated on Oliver. The girl's face was obscured, but it was obvious that Oliver was kissing her. The headline wasn't catchy, but it didn't need to be. Scandals sold themselves.

 _Who's The Prince's Mystery Girl? What Will the Selected Think?_

Oliver dropped his head into his hands, waiting for the tirade from his mother.

And boy, did it come. "You can't _do_ this, Oliver!" Eadlyn yelled, obviously at her rope's end with her son. "Especially not when the country is yours to lose!"

"I _know_ ," Oliver sighed.

Eadlyn looked prepared to launch into another rant when she paused. "What?"

"I know," he repeated, "I messed up. I'm sorry."

She didn't miss a beat this time. " _Sorry_? You were sorry after Italy, you were sorry after you were caught in a closet with the princess from Britannia! Oliver, when are you going to understand that sorry isn't enough?"

Maxon put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Oliver, what your mother means is, you have to stop putting yourself in these positions," he explained more calmly. "You can't afford to, especially with the country on the verge of rebellion."

His face hardened. "And imagine how the Selected feel seeing this," he added, "Some of these girls already have feelings for you."

"No, they don't," Oliver spat, "That's why I went out in the first place, they hate me."

"Maybe if you gave them something to like—"

"Eadlyn." Both Oliver and his mother turned their shocked faces to Maxon. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his grandfather use such a firm voice with his mother (if ever). "Let me talk to Oliver for a moment."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she turned to her son. "I don't care how you do it, but you need to fix this before _The Report_ tonight." Then she stormed from the room. Despite the hot water that he was in, he pitied his father. He knew that Kile would probably be at the receiving end of Eadlyn's angry rants for the rest of the day.

Maxon took a seat on the edge of Oliver's bed. "I'm sorry," Oliver sighed. His mother usually went straight to angry, but the weight of his grandfather's disappointment always felt worse.

"I know," Maxon said with a small smile. "It may not seem like it, but I was young once too, Oliver. I remember what the Selection is like."

Oliver pushed the newspaper off his bed and leaned back against the headboard. "I just feel like I can't do anything right," he complained, "I heard them talking about me yesterday, and…" He pulled at an errant string on his comforter.

"That's one of the worst parts of the Selection," his grandfather admitted, "Everyone has an opinion. It's overwhelming having everyone weigh in on your life."

Oliver nodded. "It's more than that," he admitted. He chewed on his lip for a moment while Maxon waited for him to speak. "Grandfather, do you think I'm fit to be king?" he finally asked, his hazel eyes meeting Maxon's brown pair. "Or…" He took a deep breath before he forced it out. "Should I abdicate and let Tristan take over?"

To his surprise, Maxon's face relaxed into a smile. "I think the fact that you're worried about what's best for the country is the most obvious sign that you're going to be a wonderful king, Oliver," Maxon assured him. "It's not easy. Mistakes are a part of life, and kings make them just as anyone else does."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I seem to make them exponentially more than anyone I've ever met."

Maxon laughed. "You have always had a penchant for troublemaking," he admitted, "but you've got a good heart, and you're smart when you take two seconds to think."

"Any advice on how to get out of this one?" Oliver sighed.

"I would recommend some aspirin for the hangover, and after that, a plethora of apologies to the girls," Maxon declared.

"That's all you've got?"

"You'll think of something," Maxon laughed as he patted his grandson's shoulder before he took his leave.

He didn't have much time to waste before _The Report_ , so he dragged himself out of bed to start his day. He headed to his study and made a call to Kaleb Ayers to request his discretion. Ayers heartily acquiesced, and Oliver promised to invite him to the palace at some point in a show of appreciation. He was beginning to work on a speech for _The Report_ when there was a knock on the door of his study.

Jonathan appeared a moment later. "Lady Irina is here to see you," he explained, "She says it's important."

Oliver's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as it was against the rules for the Selected to seek him out, but he was interested in what Irina had thought was worth possible elimination. "Show her in."

Irina looked far more put together than him, her hair pulled into a sleep updo and dressed in a black dress that hugged her curves. "Your Highness," she greeted him as she bobbed into a quick curtsey.

He gestured to the seat across from his desk. "Jonathan said it was important," he explained, "Is everything all right?"

She held up a copy of the newspaper. "It seems you have a problem," she noted.

Oliver sighed. "Yes, I'm in the middle of trying to solve that at the moment," he admitted in an irritated fashion, "So if there's nothing urgent—"

"Say it was me."

"Excuse me?" Oliver's eyebrows knit in confusion.

"The problem is you were seen out with a girl who is not one of your Selected," Irina noted, "So say it was me. We have the same hair color, similar body types, and you can't see the girl's face anyway. Get Elijah and that Ayers fellow to back you up, and no one will be able to contest it."

It put a pretty spin on the picture, making it look like Oliver was connecting with his Selected instead of out philandering irresponsibly. He was somewhat apprehensive about Irina's sudden generosity, so he asked, "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Irina insisted with a shrug of her shoulders. She set the paper aside and leaned forward. "Look, there's been a lot of speculation about the Selection, and I don't have much of an opinion about whether you're really interested in this at all, but I do know that at the end of this you pick a wife. Whatever assurance your mother gave you before this started, you and I both know that tensions have risen too high in the country for you to walk away from this single."

She was right. He suddenly felt like he had underestimated Irina. "So what are you saying?"

"I come from a good family," she noted, "I know how to behave in public. You're attractive, and I think that we could get along well. If you pick me, I would be a good queen."

"So you think if you do this for me, I'll pick you?" Oliver frowned.

Irina rolled her dark eyes. "Of course not," she countered, "I imagine this will be a wake-up call and you'll try a little harder after this. But take it as a show of good will. If I were your queen, I would be willing to support you no matter what. I don't know that you'll find all of the other girls are as forgiving and willing to turn a blind eye."

It was deceitful, but it a good solution. "Will you be able to convince the other girls that you were out with me?" he asked.

She smiled. "Of course. I spent the evening in my room, so my maids are the only ones who know I was even in the castle."

He nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate this."

She smiled and stood, curtseying to him once more. "Any time, Your Highness."

Irina's offer made it a little easier for him to relax, but Oliver was still stressed as _The Report_ drew closer. He didn't want to head to the studio early and give his mom the chance to glare angrily at him, so instead he decided to take a walk through the gardens, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder in the hot weather.

He knew that he'd made a mess of things. He was lucky that Irina had stepped up and offered to help him out. He was afraid that it wouldn't be enough. What if the girls asked to leave? He couldn't deny them if they didn't want to be there anymore. It made it a waste of both of their time.

"Hey!"

He turned in the direction of the sound and saw Mae striding towards him, already dressed for the report in a long sleeved black top and a red mermaid style skirt with roses on it. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulder, and she looked pissed.

He tried to smile. "Wow, you look—"

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

The smile faded, and Oliver sighed. It was something that he'd been trying to figure out lately as well. "Look, Mae, I'm sorry that you guys had to see it, but Irina and I—"

"Don't lie to me," she ordered, and her eyes looked watery, like she was trying to repress an angry surge of tears.

He frowned. In any other situation, he would have liked the way that Mae saw through the bullshit. "I messed up," he admitted.

Her face softened, and he had a feeling that she was fighting a losing battle against the tears, which he hated. He never wanted to be the one to make her cry, whether it was out of anger or anything else. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" she demanded.

"Ever think maybe I'm just a fucked up individual?" he tried.

"It's like you _want_ to self-destruct." She looked away.

He wasn't sure how much more frustration he could handle before he just exploded and there were small pieces of what used to be the crown prince littered all over the gardens. "Maybe what the magazines show is all there is to me," he sneered. "Maybe I showed you guys who I am, and you were too blinded by the idea of who I should be, like everyone else in this fucking country—"

"Cut the bullshit," she ordered.

They stared at each other for a long minute before he sighed and took a step closer to her. She pressed a hand against his chest to keep him at bay. Oliver's face hardened. "If you want to leave—"

Surprisingly, she laughed. "So now you're just going to push us all away? Wow, what an innovative move, Oliver."

He felt like a ticking time bomb. "God, what do you want from me?" he ground out.

"I want you to tell me what whoever she was she didn't mean anything!" Mae snapped. A heavy silence followed her statement, and Oliver felt a new sense of guilt. He'd acted out yesterday because the girls' words had hurt him. If his goal had been hurt them back, Mae made it clear that he had accomplished it.

This time when he reached for her, she didn't push him away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair as he held her to his chest.

"I'm not the only one that you hurt," she added. She tried to mask a sniffle by clearing her throat. "We care about you, you idiot."

He cared about them too. It's because he cared about them that he had been so hurt by what Evelyn had said about him, by what the girls had been discussing in the sun room yesterday. "I messed up," he admitted, "I can't do anything about that now."

"I don't think your past matters as much as how you try to move forward from it," Mae declared as she pulled away and looked at him. "Lucky for you, most of them actually believe you took Irina out. Margaery, Kaitlyn, Presley, Isolde, and I are the small exception."

"Great, only my toughest critics," he grimaced.

She smiled a little in amusement. "Well, you'll just have to think of something good to make it up to us. Come on before we're late for _The Report_ , and your mother actually murders you. I'd be a little sorry to see you go."

When they entered the set of _The Report_ , Oliver was met with glares from those that belonged to the group that Mae had named. He tried not to wither under their fierce eyes and instead joined Elijah, who looked a little downcast as well. "What's wrong with you?" Oliver asked. "Dad give you hell?"

"It's Everly," Elijah sighed, "She was mad that… uh, that I left her to plan everything." He noticed that his cousin was indeed glaring daggers at his friend.

"We should start a club," Oliver mumbled before he took his seat between Tristan and his mother. Eadlyn didn't look at him, although her face adopted a warm smile as soon as the cameras turned on.

Oliver sat sweating nervously under the hot lights of the set in anticipation of the moment when Coen finally addressed all the media that had surrounded him in the past week. "You've had a busy week, Your Highness," Coen noted in amusement when he turned to the prince.

Oliver's mouth was dry. "As everyone has seen, I'm sure," he noted with an edge of sarcasm.

"First, I did want to settle a very important matter," Coen declared, "Many have said that you were spotted out with a girl who is not one of the Selected."

Oliver frowned. "I don't like to publicize all of my relationships with the Selected, as they are very important to me," he began, "But with her permission…" He glanced at where the Selected sat and locked eyes with Irina. She gave him an almost unnoticeable nod. "Lady Irina spent some time out with me last night."

"So it was one of the Selected?"

"Yes," Oliver lied firmly.

Coen turned to Irina. "Lady Irina, it must have been surprising for you to see such a thing published on the front of the paper."

"It was," Irina admitted coyly. "I try to keep my personal life rather private, but I felt so badly for Oliver that people tried to make it seem like he was out with someone else when you simply couldn't see my face that I told him I would be more than willing to set the record straight today."

"So are you and the prince close?" Coen continued.

Irina smiled, although it looked more like a smirk to Oliver. "I can't wait to see what the future holds for us."

The matter was settled, and he noticed his mother sent him an impressed look, although she still didn't look necessarily pleased. He'd only escape any trouble because of an elaborate lie and a willing accomplice.

Coen next turned to Evelyn's article. "As someone who works very closely with the royal family, I must tell you I was shocked, Your Majesty," Coen declared, addressing Eadlyn.

She nodded. "We were very disappointed that such a fallacious piece was written by someone that we had welcomed into our home, as you can imagine."

Coen nodded his agreement before he returned to the Selected. "Ladies, what were your thoughts on the piece?"

He first held out the microphone to Isolde, and despite the icy look she'd given Oliver when he had first appeared, she regarded his family with a much warmer smile. "I don't know that I've ever met a kinder family," she admitted, "They do so much for this country, and I think the media and people who entertain these articles are rather thankless."

He turned to Samantha next. "Oliver is very sweet," she smiled, and her sincerity made Oliver relax. "There are so many moments that people don't see. A bunch of us played a game with him yesterday, and it's amazing to see him in a normal, everyday situation. He's great to be around."

He was shocked as more girls gave glowing reviews. The ones who believed he had been out with Irina seemed to be amended in their beliefs that he wasn't taking the Selection seriously, and the situation had been molded into something that almost seemed positive. By the time _The Report_ had ended, he was sure that his shirt under his suit jacket was marked with sweat. He'd narrowly dodged a huge bullet.

Eadlyn seemed to be thinking the same thing. "I don't think it'll turn out as well for you the next time," she declared, "Don't be stupid enough to make another mistake like this."

"I won't," he assured her. He couldn't be the Oliver that frequented places like Opium with a girl on each arm anymore. And what was more, he wasn't sure that he wanted to be.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** This is so overdue, so my apologies. I'm moving in the next two weeks, so updates might be a little slower, but they're coming! Thank you again for all of your support, I love you all. :D ALSO! I made a poll about the Elite. Check it out.

* * *

 _Flash_.

Oliver froze, startled by the sudden explosion of light. When he finally managed to blink the splotches of color out of his eyes, his face eased into a smile when he saw Patricia standing before him gripping the camera that he'd had delivered to her. "Aren't there better things around this place to take pictures of?" he asked.

Patricia grinned and gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "You're such a rarity anymore that I saw my chance and decided I had to take it," she declared.

Oliver grimaced. "Yeah, my mom's kept me pretty busy this last week."

It was true. While Oliver had intended to spend the week repairing any of the relationships with the Selected that he had damaged during his night out with Elijah, Eadlyn had obviously had other ideas. Right after _The Report_ on Friday, she'd had a stack of files delivered to his room detailing the palace's financial expenses for the last year and an instruction to determine how to reasonably cut their spending. Before he even had time to procrastinate on that project, another folder—this time focusing on war strategizing—had been delivered, and the work hadn't stopped. It seemed like Eadlyn was determined to keep him out of trouble by keeping him so busy that he barely had time to sleep.

Which was effective, he would admit, but it didn't make it any easier for him to focus on the fact that he was supposed to be finding a wife as well. He realized that Irina had been right: there was no way he would be able to walk away from the Selection single, even if he wasn't madly in love at the end. If his mother somehow gave her approval, there would still be the issue of the country's opinion, and he had a feeling that they would feel duped, like the entire process had been for show.

Between the work and the stress of all of the things that he didn't have time to focus on, Oliver was exhausted. He'd even gotten bags under his eyes the last week and realized that he hadn't known true embarrassment until he had been forced to send Anderson to collect an eye treatment from one of his mother's maids.

"Earth to Oliver."

His eyes snapped back to Patricia, and he sighed as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. "I'm sorry," he offered, "I feel like I've barely had time to think lately."

Patricia looked sympathetic, and after a moment of thought, her face brightened. "Are you doing anything right now?" she asked.

"This minute?" Oliver asked. Patricia nodded, and he considered it. "Now that you mention it, I do seem to have a rare moment of freedom," he admitted, "I'm supposed to meet with one of my mother's generals tonight about this strategic…" He trailed off as he noticed a playful smile on Patricia's face.

"Let's go somewhere," Patricia suggested. "Do something fun."

"Got any suggestions?" Oliver asked. With all of the work that he'd put into just existing recently, thinking of dates wasn't exactly at the top of the list of things that he'd been doing well lately. He'd tried to have a relaxing lunch with Gabi the other day, and it had turned into an hour of him mouthing apologies during conference calls.

And that was how he ended up in the hay loft atop the stables. "How did you even find your way up here?" Oliver laughed as he picked a piece of hay out of Patricia's hair.

She shrugged. "I was looking for somewhere quiet," she explained.

"You don't mind the horse smell?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Sometimes the palace can smell… overly clean."

It was funny but also true. "I know what you mean."

Patricia's eyes scanned the barn aisle below them and suddenly lit up. "Plus, watch this." She stuck her hand behind a barrel of hay and produced a fishing rod. It was a strange thing to find hidden in a hay loft, but Oliver wasn't surprised as he was the one who had stashed it there years ago. She leaned over the edge of the loft and seemed to be focused on something below.

After a moment of intense concentration, she snagged a clipboard that had been laying on a bench and managed to pull it up into the loft. She seemed pleased as she grabbed it off the fishing pole and read it over. "Training schedule," she declared.

Oliver laughed. "Have you been tormenting the barn manager, Phillip?"

"Not tormenting, per se," countered Patricia with a playful grin.

"I used to do the same thing when I was a kid," Oliver admitted, "Mostly when I was in trouble, which was fairly often. I would come up here and wreak havoc with that fishing pole. I think Phillip thought the stables were haunted for a while."

Patricia snorted. "I can only imagine what a menace you were," she teased, "Your father's been telling me all sorts of stories during our chess games."

Oliver groaned and fell back against a bale of hay. "Oh no," he sighed, "Now I'll have to eliminate you so you can't tell anyone what a big dweeb I actually am."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, everyone already knows."

He stuck his tongue out at her and picked up the camera that she had discarded. "Got anything good?" he asked.

Patricia nodded and scooted over beside him. She started to click through the pictures and paused to show him a few: Kaitlyn with Pawnds draped over her head so that only her mouth was visible beneath his cat face, Isolde giving Mae a piggyback ride down the hallway as they both laughed, a few of the girls struggling to concoct a pyramid in the Women's Room, Celine taming Presley's curly hair into a braid. There were different girls, different events, but all of the pictures showed radiant smiles.

It made Oliver sad, but he noticed that he wasn't featured in many of the pictures. "I haven't been able to catch you looking happy too much recently," Patricia offered.

He sighed. "It hasn't exactly been my forte lately."

There was a moment of silence before Patricia added, "You know, I met Marid Illéa once."

Oliver snorted. "Oh yeah?"

Patricia nodded. "They usually get famous people or public figures to hand out the trophies at chess matches," she explained, "So when he gets to me, Marid goes, "A girl! How remarkable." And then I had to smile and shake his hand. It was awful."

Oliver grimaced sympathetically. "That's Marid for you," he frowned, "He's always been a thorn in my mom's side, and now I have to deal with him too."

"It looks like you and the Illéas are friends from the average person's point of view," she explained, "I'd imagine that people are pretty confused if Marid's supporting Tristan now."

"Yeah," sighed Oliver, "We keep him around mostly because we have to. I like Alaric and Regan, but Marid is a nuisance."

"I'm sorry," Patricia offered. "My dad's a chemist, and he's got a rival that's always trying to undermine any of his studies or research projects. He jokes that the other chemist is his 'nemesis.'" Oliver chuckled. He could relate to that.

"Maybe that's how I'll have Marid introduced the next time he's here," he mused, "My mortal enemy." Patricia laughed her agreement, but before she could respond, Oliver's phone dinged. He sighed and pulled it from his pocket.

 _Where are you? Mom's been looking for you._

He sighed and typed a quick reply to Tristan before he looked back up at Patricia. "Time to get back to real life?" she guessed.

"Unfortunately," admitted Oliver. "Thanks for the short escape though."

"Thank _you_ ," Patricia smiled, "I've kind of missed seeing you around."

And Oliver realized that he'd missed spending time with Patricia as well. She was one of the girls that he felt most comfortable around, and she had an unfailing ability to make him smile.

Despite Tristan's beckon, Oliver paused for a moment and studied Patricia's tan face with its freckles and bright green eyes. Her wavy black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had another piece of hay stuck in it. When she noticed that he wasn't moving, she glanced nervously at him. "What?" she asked. "Is there a bug on me?"

The dusty hay loft had never seemed more perfect, so Oliver did the only logical thing and shifted to close the space between them. He inched forward, ever slowly until—

"Ouch!"

They both pulled back, each rubbing their foreheads. "I thought you were going to the left," Patricia complained.

"Why'd you shoot forward like a freaking rocket?" Oliver demanded with a laugh.

She huffed. "A _rocket?_ Our almost first kiss, and you compare me to a _rocket_ —"

This time, he pulled her to him and quickly pressed his mouth to hers before she could injure him once more. Her complaint about the rocket comment seemed forgotten when they parted. "Well," she quipped. "Not bad."

He laughed. "Alright, let's get out of this hay loft before my mom sends the guards to drag me back to the castle."

"What an amusing photo that'd make though."

When he did finally find his mom, he was a little embarrassed to see that two of the highest ranking generals of the Illéan armed forces flanked her. "We were just looking for you," Eadlyn explained, sounding less annoyed than Oliver expected.

"Sorry," he mumbled, but Eadlyn brushed the reply off as she led the trio to her usual meeting room.

"Oliver, you know General Gauge, who took over after General Ledger's retirement," she reminded him as she pointed to the man to her right. Oliver shook his hand. General Gauge was a few years younger than his mother, if Oliver recalled, but General Ledger had personally recommended him, as he'd been impressed by the young man. "And this is General Carin, who handles most of the forces on the eastern side of the country." This man was older than his mother, and his handshake was firm, which Oliver expected from such a stoic, serious looking man.

"Your mother brought us here to discuss a recent military mobilization drill that you completed," General Gauge explained as they all took their seats.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. Usually when his mother pulled him in to discuss the work she'd given him it wasn't a good thing. She'd usually pass along a note of encouragement when he excelled, but discussions were usually reserved for areas that needed improvement.

"Neither my father or myself have ever been very good at military dealings," Eadlyn admitted. "It's lucky for us both that we've been fortunate enough to rule in relatively peaceful times and have been able to surround ourselves with those who have much more intelligence in the field."

He knew that. His grandfather often joked that he was useless on a battlefield. "Well, I'm glad that my mother's brought you gentlemen on board then," Oliver smiled weakly at the generals.

Eadlyn leaned forward. "Oliver, your proposal was…" He braced himself, trying to guess which description she'd use. Horrific? Lacking inspiration? Completely unreasonable? "Remarkable."

His eyebrows knit together. "What?"

Both of the generals faces relaxed into smiles, and he momentarily wondered if his mom had told them to purposely not let on that the meeting was a pleasant one. General Gauge nodded particularly enthusiastically, as if the prospect of working alongside a monarch with a head for military endeavors was all he'd ever wanted. "We're thinking of incorporating it into a drill early next spring to see how quickly we would be able to mobilize forces in the event of an attack," he explained.

"I was admittedly confused by it," Eadlyn confessed, "so I faxed it to General Ledger who said that it was…" She pursed her lips, and Oliver thought he saw General Carin repress a smile. "I believe the phrasing he used was 'the most sensible military document that's ever come from a Schreave.'"

"Must be the Woodwork genes," General Carin beamed. "I worked alongside your grandfather, Carter. Great man."

Oliver was silent for a moment as he let the news set in. There were few areas that were of importance to a ruler that he truly excelled in. He understood economics, he was okay with legislature, and he needed heavy improvement in his representation of himself. But this was an important area that he'd been more than competent in, and he was let himself enjoy the praise for a moment.

"So, what do you think?" Eadlyn asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Uh, sorry?" Oliver frowned, "What was the question?"

"Would you like to join us in the spring when we attempt the mobilization procedure for the first time?" General Gauge asked. "See your work in action?"

Oliver nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah," he agreed, "That'd be awesome. If this is something that I'm actually good at, I'd love to be as involved as possible."

"Maybe with your interest and skill we'll be able to finally get that navy that we've been talking about up and running," General Carin mused as he and Gauge stood. They both bowed shortly to the queen and prince before they left Oliver and Eadlyn alone.

Eadlyn collected her things as Oliver took a moment to revel in the knowledge that he actually possessed some skills that would make him a good ruler. It was a novel idea, really. Before she left, Eadlyn paused and put a hand on his shoulder. "Good job," was all she offered before she left.

He knew that she was still upset with him for all of the trouble at Opium, but he was glad to see that the icy treatment that she'd been giving him (and hopefully the mountains of work) was beginning to recede. He left the conference room invigorated until he remembered the meeting that he'd had planned for that night. He glanced at his watch and cringed. It was nearly time.

When Mae had told him that Isolde, Kaitlyn, Presley, and Margaery, in addition to herself, didn't buy the story that he and Irina had made up, Oliver had realized that he was really going to have to work for their forgiveness. He'd tried first with petty, materialistic things. He'd sent Kaitlyn new toys for Pawnds, gifted Presley an expensive anthology on psychology, offered Isolde her own horse at the stables, provided Margaery with a snow leopard stuffed animal, and had a pair of new running shoes delivered to Mae.

He was pretty sure the girls had banded together in solidarity, because all of the gifts had been returned.

So he'd tried harder. He met Mae outside her room every morning for their runs. He personally cleaned out one of the smaller libraries and offered it to Presley for her studying, as long as he was allowed to join her. He convinced his mom to let Isolde sit in on a council meeting. He spent a few hours volunteering with Margaery at an orphanage on Sunday, which was usually his day off. And he'd set up a video chat for Kaitlyn and her family, nervously hiding in the corner until she'd beckoned him forward to introduce him to her siblings.

The more personal efforts had seemed to have a better impact, and he had a feeling that none of the girls were prepared to pack up and leave anymore. Just to officially clear the air and move past his mistake, he'd set up a dinner cruise from harbor closest to the palace and invited all five girls along. So while he was pretty sure they didn't hate him anymore, he did still feel a little like he was walking into the lion's den.

When he met them on the yacht, he was glad that he'd worn a three-piece suit, because anything else and he'd have been under dressed. He was amused to see that they'd coordinated, all clad in some shade of silver. They all looked beautiful, dressed in gowns that made them look regal and frankly, a little intimidating. He'd forced himself to attend without Elijah or Tristan, although the latter had offered to come several times. He needed to make things right on his own.

Prior to his arrival, they were milling about snacking on appetizers and drinks and laughing with each other. However, as soon as he stepped onto the mahogany deck, a silence fell over the five.

"Thanks for coming," he greeted them as one of the waiters passed out glasses of champagne. He was tempted to take a sip from his to calm his nerves, but in a show of good will, he set it down. He saw Mae smirk in amusement and tried not to stick his tongue out at her.

He cleared his throat and pressed forward. "I know that I hurt you guys last week, and I'm really trying to make it up to all of you," he explained, "I fucked up big time. I know that. But I need you all to know how sorry I am and that if you continue on in the Selection with me—and I really hope you choose to, because all of you are really special to me—I want you to know that I really am committed to this process."

He wasn't sure if he expected them to start yelling, but it instead began with a laugh. "Committed," Isolde remarked before she took a big sip of her champagne. He had a feeling that she was tipsy, which was unexpected. "Is that what you were when you were making out with another girl? Were thirty-five not enough for you?"

"Okay, I deserve that," he admitted, "I just—"

But her eyes were blazing. "I asked you to let me go home, and you said no. Is this what I'm sacrificing for, Oliver? To sit around while you do whoever and whatever you want? If I become queen, is that what the rest of my life is going to be, dreaming about a love that I can't have—"

To his surprise, a sob cut Isolde off. The other girls looked a little surprised, and Kaitlyn put a hand on Isolde's arm, but the tall blonde squared her shoulders, stood, and calmly disappeared below deck. There was silence as everyone turned their gazes to him.

"I guess I deserved that," sighed Oliver bitterly, "I'll go talk to her."

"Uh, no," Mae countered as she stood, "Let me."

He was sorry to see Mae go as she was the one who he'd felt he'd made the most progress with and resented him he least at the moment, but he allowed her to go after Isolde. He glanced at the remaining three girls staring at him and decided to try again. "I'm not trying to make excuses, but I did…everything on Thursday, because I heard some of the girls talking, and-and I don't know, I acted out. It hurt, and it was childish, and I figured if everyone had such a bad opinion of me already—"

"Do you realize you're the most self-sabotaging person I've ever met?" demanded Presley, although she sounded more exhausted than angry. "It's like you try to push people away and fuel these misconceptions they have about you."

"Yeah," Oliver mumbled. It wasn't worth trying to argue. It sounded accurate. "There's just a lot of expectations, and I'm trying to learn how to be better under pressure."

Presley didn't look satisfied. "What if we asked to leave tonight?" she ventured.

He cringed. He'd known it was a possibility when he'd invited them all to dinner, but he hoped after the effort he'd made all week would have been enough to convince them to stay a little longer. They were all girls that he cared about, and he didn't want to see any of them leave. But he thought of people like Adelaide and Patricia and realized that he could fall in love with a number of the girls.

It wasn't fair to ask them to stay if they didn't want to be there anymore. "If you really want to go, I won't stop you," he admitted, "Even though I'd be really sorry for our time together to come to an end."

Presley pursed her lips but didn't push the subject. He noticed Kaitlyn glance nervously at the other two girls and added, "If you guys want to talk to me in private, we can do that too. I just thought this group setting would be a good idea since you all feel similarly."

She jumped at the offer, and the two of them grabbed a plate of snacks and wandered towards the front of the boat. "You look great," he offered in an attempt to test the waters and figure out how upset she was with him.

Kaitlyn smiled but didn't reply. "Can I tell you something kind of embarrassing?" she asked as they sat down.

"I love embarrassing," he chuckled.

Kaitlyn took a deep breath. "So, I kind of had a little crush on you before this whole thing started," she admitted, "I mean, that's _why_ I entered. And I guess that's also why I was so upset when I saw the newspaper. I'm not really a jealous person, but it just kind of felt like it meant that none of us were good enough, and that hurt."

He realized there were other important facets to what she'd said, but Oliver was stuck on the first sentence. "You have a crush on me?" he repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, you dork," she laughed, her own face lighting up in a familiar way that he'd missed when she had been upset with him.

"How is that even possible?" he asked. "The media doesn't really do me any favors."

Kaitlyn shrugged her small shoulders. "I don't really pay attention to the magazines usually," she countered. "But I've watched you on _The Report_ , and I've seen the things that you do for the country through your philanthropy and outreach. And you're always so sweet with your family, and…" She shrugged, her light blue eyes locking with his. "I don't know. I just really like you."

It was what Oliver had been waiting to hear, even wishing for: someone as sweet and caring and just _good_ as Kaitlyn was there for _him,_ despite all of his numerous flaws _._ Not for the crown or for the money or anything else. Not even for Prince Oliver. Just him, Oliver Woodwork.

An explosion made both of them jump, and above the water, a barrage of colorful fireworks erupted. Kaitlyn glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, and Oliver shrugged sheepishly. "I'm a go big or go home type of person," he admitted. She laughed and allowed him to pull her closer, his arms wrapped around her as she leaned against his chest.

He rested his chin on Kaitlyn's shoulder and let himself enjoy the moment. It was nice to be with someone that he was sure, someone that cared about him. He knew that he had connections with some of the Selected, but it really was special to hear that someone cared about him and felt connected with him too.

A warmness spread throughout him as he watched the fireworks. There were a lot of girls left, but he realized that it was very possible that Kaitlyn could be the One. She'd be a beautiful, caring queen to satisfy the people, and they could have an infinite number of moments like that one. He would be happy, and he would work his hardest to make her happy.

He wondered if she was thinking the same thing too, as he noticed she felt a little tense in his arms. "Cold?" he asked as he hugged her a little tighter and dropped a kiss against her bare shoulder.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. "No," she countered, "Perfect."

If at that moment, someone would have given Oliver the choice between resisting the urge to kiss her for five more minutes or swim back to shore, the swimming would have been easier. He kept his arms wrapped around her and leaned in to her. Her lips were soft, timid at first, and she pulled back in surprise at first. "You're incredible," Oliver whispered, his forehead rested against hers, and it was enough encouragement to cause her to return to him.

They were perfectly in sync, and he knew in that moment that he could kiss Kaitlyn for the rest of his life and be the happiest man in the world. But when they parted slightly for air, the thought of the four other girls on the boat made Oliver frown.

"I wish I would've met you in a different way," he admitted with a sigh as he leaned back.

This seemed to confuse her—which he didn't fault her for, it confused him—but she tried to offer a bright, typical Kaitlyn smile. "That seems unlikely," she pointed out, "A prince and a nurse?"

"Crazier things have happened," argued Oliver.

Kaitlyn laughed as she stood. "I suppose you're right. Come on, I think that was the dinner bell."

To say that dinner was a tense affair was an understatement. Isolde didn't return, and Kaitlyn tried to keep things upbeat, but Presley seemed disappointed that she had defected from their sisterhood so quickly. Margaery and Mae engaged in the conversation lightly, but after dinner, Oliver made a point to pull Margaery aside.

And this was why he wished that he'd met Kaitlyn in a different setting. Because as he stared into Margaery's eyes, he realized that he could marry her and be happy as well. "I'm sorry." He decided to lead with the apology and hope for the best.

"I know," Margaery sighed, "I just need… time, I guess."

He was a little taken aback by her response. He and Margaery had always had such a strong connection that he'd honestly expected her to forgive him. "What?"

Now she looked apologetic. "You've been really sweet all week," she admitted, "But… I don't know. I know the people that you were out with from some of my father's business associates, and they're bad news, Oliver."

He frowned. He'd made some bad decisions that night at Opium but he hadn't thought that the people he'd been around had necessarily been bad. He'd rather liked Kaleb Ayers once he got past the fact that he was a little boring. "They weren't _that_ bad," he countered lightly.

Margaery pressed her lips together and didn't seem to be eager to further the conversation. "Just… time," was all she gave him.

Given everything that had happened, he supposed it was a fair request. He just didn't like the idea of not being around her, not seeking her out whenever he saw the Selected. "Okay," he nodded, "I can do time."

She smiled. "Thank you." And then she was gone, and Oliver was kicking himself for being an idiot once again.

He didn't know what 'time' meant, but he already knew he didn't like it.

"Hey." He jumped at the sound of Presley's voice.

"Hey," he smiled tensely. "Am I about to get yelled at again?"

For the first time all night, Presley's face twitched into the smallest of smiles. "I think I got it out of my system," she admitted, "I was just…"

"Disappointed?" Oliver guessed. Presley nodded. Oliver grimaced. Disappointment was the worst.

He was surprised when she added, "I think I had unfair expectations though."

"Really?" he asked.

She nodded and nervously toyed with the braid that her curly hair had been coaxed into. "After our talk in the tree… I don't know. I really liked the Oliver that I saw there. I think one of the things that I forget or maybe didn't even realize until now is that you put a lot of pressure on yourself too."

He rose his eyebrows. "How do you figure that?"

She laughed. "If you weren't trying your best in this, I don't think that a couple of poor comments from those girls could have made you react the way that you did."

He frowned. She always just seemed to _get_ him, maybe better than anyone else in his life. "Lighten up," Presley added as she nudged him with her elbow. "It'll make things easier. I think we all—myself included—need to realize that mistakes are going to happen. And that's okay."

"Lighten up," Oliver repeated, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. It was rare that someone ever told _him_ to lighten up about anything. "Any suggestions how?"

Presley snorted. "Please. If I was any good at that, high school would've been a lot less painless."

"Great," he mumbled.

"You'll figure it out though," she declared, "You're not the idiot that you pretend to be sometimes."

"You're really terrible at pep talks, you know."

She laughed. "Sometimes," she agreed, "Which is why you're going to go talk to Isolde now instead of me."

Oliver hesitated. "I don't really know what to do when girls cry," he sighed, "I don't even know what _made_ her cry."

Presley turned her steely gaze on him. "You know how overwhelmed you feel by the Selection?" He nodded. "Well, _we_ feel that way too. We all have lives outside of this, and we'll have lives after this. It's a lot to handle sometimes."

It made sense. He pulled away from the rail that he'd been leaning against and nodded. "Here I go," he declared, "If I'm not back in ten minutes, she probably killed me." Presley rolled her eyes and gave him a shove towards the stairs.

Isolde was curled up on a couch below deck, her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes looked faraway, and he had a feeling that her mind was somewhere other than the boat. "Hey," he greeted her softly.

"Hi." She didn't meet his eyes and looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry about my outburst."

"Don't," he countered. "I get it. This is a hard thing. I don't think I realized that it's just as tough for you guys as it is for me until this whole mess." He paused. "Okay, and Presley kind of said something along those lines earlier."

She smiled weakly, but her gaze still seemed unfocused. Oliver tentatively took a seat beside her. "I don't want you to sacrifice anything for me," he began quietly. "I don't want anyone to."

She pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and took a steadying breath before she declared, "I believe that you can make a difference, Oliver. I think that _we_ could make a different. I'm just not sure if…"

He reached for her hand. "If you care about me at all…" His hazel eyes met her blue ones, but they were unreadable. "Please don't give up just yet."

He didn't exhale until her fingers tightened in response to the pressure that he'd been putting on them. "Okay," she replied, a weak smile on her face.

Their conversation didn't seem to have the same invigorating effect on Isolde as it did on Oliver, so she elected to stay below deck until they docked. Oliver made his way back to the upper level and was glad to find Mae alone at the dessert table. He cheerfully hooked an arm around her waist, startling her and causing her to drop the chocolate covered strawberry she'd been about to bite into.

"You seem cheerful," she noted as she reached for another strawberry.

Oliver snagged it from her fingers before she could eat it, and she huffed in frustration. "I am," he declared, "I don't think anyone hates me anymore."

"Oh, really?" she snorted as she raised an eyebrow. "What about me? I don't think I was asked my opinion tonight."

"You don't hate me," he assured her, "If you did, you wouldn't have worn that dress." He twirled her in a small circle, making Mae laugh. She was wearing a silver dress like the other girls with a sparkly overlay, off the shoulder straps, and a sheer skirt that allowed him a glimpse at the long lines of her legs.

"Maybe I'm trying to torture you," she pointed out.

He pretended to be wounded. "How cruel of you."

She procured another strawberry. "If you are, it's working," Oliver assured her.

Mae laughed and wandered away from him towards the rail of the boat. "Do you think dolphins are out this late?" she asked as her green eyes scanned the water.

He gave a shrug as he joined her. "Not sure. Why?"

She blushed a little before she said, "They're my favorite animal."

He had to laugh. "How girly and innocent, Lady Maelys," he noted. She stuck her tongue out at him. "Would you like to see some dolphins?" he asked as he started to formulate an idea.

Although she tried not to look too eager, she nodded excitedly.

"Alright," he acquiesced, "I'll see what I can do. I don't know if you've noticed, but I have a little bit of pull in these parts."

The excited look on her face made it worth all the strings he'd have to pull to make her dolphin dream come true. "Thank you," he added.

Her dark eyebrows creased. "For what?"

"Setting me straight last week," he explained, "I don't want to be the easy Oliver that hurts people and does irresponsible things. You made me realize that."

It looked like she wasn't sure what to say, because she eventually shrugged and smiled. "Here to tell you to get your head out of the sand whenever."

Oliver smirked. "Come on, it looks like there's a few strawberries that you haven't managed to eat yet. No comrades left behind."

The rest of the cruise wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for, since Isolde and Margaery declined to join the group, but it was better than what he'd started with. He hung out with Presley, Kaitlyn, and Mae and talked about what they'd been up to during the week—Presley had aced a big paper, and they all congratulated him when he told them that he'd impressed his mom and her generals—and snacked on the few desserts that Mae didn't hog. Oliver was enjoying himself so much so that he found himself surprised and a little disappointed when they docked after what seemed like such a short time.

When he returned to his room, he was surprised to see that Tristan was waiting for him. "How'd it go?" Tristan asked.

Oliver shrugged. "They didn't make me walk the plank and leave me for a shark to find," he pointed out, "So I'd say it was a success."

"Good," Tristan grinned. "Rafael called for you, by the way. He said to have you give him a ring back if it's not too late when you get in."

Oliver groaned and dragged a hand through his hair as he did the quick math to determine the time difference. It was about 10 AM in Italy at the moment, so he decided to return the call before he turned in. "Do me a favor and check on Isolde," he ordered Tristan before he left, "She kind of had a rough night, so just make sure she's okay."

Tristan's eyes knit together in worry, and he nodded. "Yeah, I'll go do that right now."

"Thanks, Tris," Oliver called as he walked into the office and dialed Prince Rafael's number.

"Oliver!" the boisterous Italian prince yelled into the phone upon answering. "How happy I am to hear from you! Your brother said that you were at the mercy of your angry Selected. Breaking too many hearts, my friend?"

Oliver snorted. "Something like that," he replied, "How's everything going?"

"Wonderful, wonderful," Rafael replied carelessly, "I call because I have exciting news! I will be coming to Illéa!"

Of all the royals that Oliver ever had to deal with, Rafael and the Italian royal family were some of his favorite. Rafael's grandmother, Nicolette, had always been close with Oliver's grandparents, and it was a closeness that they'd passed on to their children. Oliver and Rafael had very similar personalities, although Rafael insisted he would never marry and instead enjoy his playboy life style for as long as he could.

"That's awesome," Oliver laughed into the phone, "What for?"

"Your harvest festival, you dunce!" Rafael reminded him. "It is soon, is it not?"

Oliver groaned. "Oh, god, I forgot."

With all of the stress between the Selection, his big mess up, and the trouble that Marid had been causing, he'd completely forgotten that one of the biggest events of the year, the Harvest Festival, was coming up the first week of October. They sent out invitations to all of the royal families every year to come share in and celebrate the countries posterity, and while it meant that he got to see people like Rafael, it also meant that people like the newly married Princess Regan Illéa and her Russian husband would be coming as well.

"You do not sound happy for my visit, you scoundrel," teased Rafael, "Is that any way to treat a friend?"

"I'll be happy to see _you_ ," Oliver assured him, "I'm just a little less thrilled to have the Russians visit."

"And you forget your ex-loves," chortled Rafael, and Oliver could tell that his friend was really enjoying the awkward situation that Oliver was about to find himself in. In his younger years, he'd had a few too many brief flings with princesses around the world, some of which took his fleeting attentions as an insult.

"Oh, god, murder me," groaned Oliver. "How many weeks do I have to prepare for this?"

"Not nearly enough," Rafael declared. "Two weeks!"

'Not nearly enough' was right.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Hello everyone! I just wanted to take a minute and really thank **rysaspirit, Canadaorbust, morethanjustastory, wolfofstark, ChocolateChipPancakes, S.S. Carraway, Fryllabrille201,** and **celiawrites** for their reviews last chapter _._ All of you have been so supportive for the entirety of the story, so I just wanted to give you all a little shout out :) Also, thank you to my guest review from Annie, I completely agree with everything you said about Keadlyn and the relationshp with Eikko feeling rushed ;)

Also, my good friend, **wolfofstark** , is doing a SYOC that you should go enter. I really want her to start writing it and there's only a few spaces left, so go send in characters :D Okay, now on to our regularly scheduled programming.

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Oliver was kind of a mess.

With everything that had been going on lately, he'd nearly forgotten about Thalia's audition with the Royal Theater Company. He'd woken up at six-thirty to go to the bathroom, and a random glance at the calendar on his desk had reminded him of the audition at eight. Panic had quickly set in, and he'd sent Anderson to wake up Jonathan and Rosalie as he dashed into the shower.

At seven, he met Rosalie in the entrance hall. She still looked sleepy—and adorable, he noted—and was a dressed a little more casually in an army green t-shirt dress and camel booties, her blonde hair loose and wavy. He'd only managed to pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, tucking his wild hair into a baseball hat and praying that the cameras didn't catch him out today. "Ready?" he asked.

Rosalie nodded excitedly. "I can't believe her audition is finally here!" she exclaimed as he took her hand and lead her out of the palace.

He quickly spied Jonathan by one of the black town cars that belonged to the palace, and they joined him. "I couldn't find a driver," Jonathan told him apologetically.

"No problem," countered Oliver, "I trust you." As he opened the door and prepared to slide into the backseat, he noticed Jonathan hadn't moved for the driver's seat, so he added, "It's at the Amberly Schreave Center for the Performing Arts."

Jonathan looked uncomfortable. "What is it?" Oliver asked as he paused outside the car.

His guard shifted uneasily. "I don't know how to drive, sir."

" _What?"_

Jonathan shrugged. "I've only ever been in the army and with you, neither of which require me to drive," he pointed out. He held the keys out to Oliver, whose eyes bulged.

"Well, I don't know how to drive!" sputtered Oliver. Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, like they'd ever let me," he pointed out, gesturing to the palace.

"Good lord," Rosalie sighed as she swiped the keys out of Jonathan's hand. "Buckle up, boys."

Oliver was a little mortified when Jonathan ordered him into the backseat—he was never allowed to sit in the front for "security reasons"—but that feeling was quickly displaced by sheer terror as Rosalie sped, swerved, and generally endangered their lives on the way to the theater.

He was glad that he hadn't gotten the chance to eat breakfast yet, as it felt like it had taken his stomach a moment to catch up with the rest of his body. They made it to the theater with twenty minutes to spare before the auditions started, and the trio raced inside.

Although he usually tried not to assert his power as the crown prince too often, Oliver was forced to pull rank over the security guard that was posted outside of the backstage entrance. When the guard dropped into a deep bow, Oliver yanked the door open and raced up the steps.

The backstage area was huge but highly cluttered with old props and other people waiting for their auditions. He searched for Thalia's small frame and sighed in relief when Rosalie pointed to where she was sitting on top of some sound equipment. "You guys made it!" she beamed as they approached.

"Of course," scoffed Oliver, like their entire morning hadn't been a never ending series of rushing. Thalia hugged Rosalie and then jumped up to throw her arms around Oliver's neck, as usual. "Are you ready?" he asked as he spun her in a circle before he placed her back on the ground.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," Thalia admitted, "So if that's what ready feels like, then sure."

"Well, just try not to throw up on stage," Oliver cringed, "We just had those floors replaced last year."

Rosalie laughed. "I'm sure you'll do amazingly," she insisted encouragingly. "You're incredible, Thalia, not just for your age."

Thalia beamed. "Thanks. I'm really glad you both could come."

"We'll be right in the audience with Miss Natalie," Oliver assured her. "And afterwards, I'm taking the newest member of the Royal Theater Company to breakfast."

Thalia chewed on her lower lip. "Oliver, you don't know that I'm going to get it," she pointed out.

"Well, you better," he declared, "because I don't know any of these other people, so that'd make a pretty awkward breakfast." Thalia laughed, and they wished her luck one more time before they joined Jonathan and headed towards the seats. Before they entered the audience, Oliver handed Jonathan some money and ordered him to run to the closest flower shop and grab some flowers for Thalia.

When Jonathan looked uneasy about leaving him unprotected, Oliver rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, no one's going to pull a John Wilkes Boothe on me," he laughed.

Jonathan's eyebrows creased as though he didn't catch Oliver's reference, so Rosalie explained, "He killed an old American president while they were watching a play," which caused Jonathan's eyes to widen. "But has totally never happened since then," Rosalie added, as though trying to assuage Jonathan's unease.

Oliver had to formally order him out before he agreed, and they took their seats after. Thalia's last name was at the beginning of the alphabet, so she was on pretty early, and Oliver felt like he held his breath throughout the entire show.

Oliver had always liked kids. He had fun with them, got along with them. He liked that they were clean slates with their entire lives before them.

He didn't like people who mistreated their kids. Thalia's parents had at best neglected her and at worst abused her. He remembered how mistrusting and fearful she'd been when he'd first met her. It had taken an entire year for her to open up to him. This audition would change her life, if only she could show the casting directors what he saw every time she stepped on stage.

Rosalie must've noticed that he was holding his breath and his knuckles were turning white from the grip on the seat in front of him, and she reached for his hand. "Breathe," she ordered, "She's gonna do great."

The minute she centered herself in the middle of the stage, magic happened. Oliver had seen her perform a hundred times, and never had he been so impressed. The comedic monologue they'd provided her with made him laugh, the dramatic one made him tear up. But it was the song that she'd prepared that really sealed the deal.

Since he served as an honorary director's assistant for the summer theater program, he'd seen her audition many times. Her usual audition song was "Maybe This Time" from _Cabaret,_ which was always a show stopper. He guessed she'd decided she needed something better for this audition, which he didn't think was possible until he heard her sing "Home" from _The Wiz._ The wistfulness and longing in her voice pained Oliver. He knew she wasn't acting in that moment. Being cast by the company would fulfill her dreams of giving her a home in the same that the ruby slippers did for Dorothy.

He was glad that he'd worn a hat, as it gave him a minute to wipe his eyes without anyone noticing too much. If Rosalie could tell, she tactfully looked the other way. The casting directors took a moment to consult with each other before the one in the center addressed Thalia. "Miss Beaufort, I see that you're twelve years old."

"Yes sir," nodded Thalia. Rosalie and Oliver were both gripping each other's hands so hard that they were beginning to lose feeling, and neither breathed as they waited for a response. If the casting director rejected her based on age, Oliver was prepared to throw around his weight as prince, as much as he usually refrained from doing so.

"We've never had a cast member so young. Welcome aboard."

Rosalie and Oliver both yelled out in excitement and jumped to their feet. Thalia burst into tears and raced down the steps to hug him, thanking him profusely, and he was glad that Rosalie remembered to grab the bouquet that Jonathan had returned with, because in that moment all Oliver could think of was how proud he was and how glad that he'd been able to share a moment that he'd never forget with Rosalie.

After they'd moved Thalia into her new dorm at the theater company and gone to breakfast, Rosalie drove them back to the palace much more calmly, and when they parked, Jonathan left them alone in the car. Rosalie stayed in the driver's seat, and with some fumbling and a lot of laughter from her, Oliver managed to pull himself into the passenger seat.

"This is the first time I've ever been in the front of a car," he noted as he glanced around. "Weird."

She laughed. "Why aren't you allowed to sit in the front?"

Oliver cringed. "I think they're afraid someone's going to shoot me through the windshield, to be honest."

Rosalie's face blanched. "Oh, wow."

"Wonderful reality of being a royal," Oliver mumbled bitterly. "Would you be up for that?"

"Some people are worth it," she replied with a small smile that made Oliver grin as well. He brought their entwined hands to his lips so that he could kiss hers. "You're really sweet with Thalia, you know," she added.

He blushed. "Yeah, well, some parents aren't what they're supposed to be," he noted darkly.

Rosalie nodded. "I'd never trade anything for my dad. He's wonderful."

"I hope someday I'm that kind of dad," Oliver mused, "The irreplaceable, not traded for anything kind. Not the kind that my kid is always trying to escape."

"You will be," smiled Rosalie.

"Oh, yeah?" Oliver chuckled.

"Definitely not something that any of the magazines or talk shows pick up on, but you're one of the most caring people I've ever met, Oliver," Rosalie pointed out. "You changed a little girl's life today, and Melody told me how you were sending her home with some stuff to help out her family. You might try to be big and bad, but…" She smiled and shrugged. "You're kind of great."

Oliver smiled. "So are you," he told Rosalie. "When I woke up this morning and was rushing around, you're still the first person I thought of." He put an arm around Rosalie's shoulders and pulled her close as best he could over the awkward center console between them. The uninhibited back seat, he decided, was much better.

He and Rosalie talked a little bit more before Oliver decided that he should probably get back to the castle. He'd had his cell phone with him the whole time in case anyone tried to get ahold of him, but he hadn't exactly remembered to let anyone know where he was going before they'd raced off this morning, and he hoped the firing squad (in the form of Eadlyn Woodwork-Schreave, of course) wasn't awaiting him.

When a guard told him that Eadlyn was looking for him as soon as he walked inside, Oliver wanted to drop to the ground and throw a tantrum. Apparently he couldn't even leave the palace without causing an uproar anymore, he realized as he headed towards the conference room that the guard had relayed. He was even more disheartened when he opened the door to find that his entire Selection council had joined his mother.

"I was with Rosalie and Jonathan," he instantly explained, his hands held up in front of him defensively.

Eadlyn's dark eyebrows quirked like she wasn't sure of the relevance of his statement. "Okay…" she replied, "That's great, dear. Would you take a seat?"

Relieved that he wasn't about to be yelled at (again), Oliver dropped into the empty seat to her right. "What's going on?" he asked as he glanced at the stack of files in front of her. Having spent an almost obsessive amount of time pouring over them himself after the Evelyn debacle, he quickly realized they were the Selected's applications.

Eadlyn spoke cautiously, as though she wasn't quite sure of what she was about to say. "It's about the Selection," she explained.

"Uh oh," chirped Oliver.

"It's been brought to my attention that today is six weeks since the girls have gotten here," she explained, "And… less delicately, it's been six weeks that we've been compensating at least twenty-four girls."

So that was why everyone looked so uncomfortable. Money matters had a tendency to do that. "Uh, sorry?" Oliver tried.

Eadlyn gave him a kind smile but added, "We need to have some significant eliminations soon, darling. With the Harvest Festival coming up, it's the financially smart thing to do."

Oliver hated the idea of "significant eliminations." There were some girls that he felt he didn't know well enough yet to send home without any second thoughts, regardless of the fact that they had been there for six weeks. "How significant?" Oliver frowned. "I thought that I was allowed to take as long as I needed with this."

"You are," Eadlyn admitted, "But we usually don't retain large numbers for extremely long. Your grandfather eliminated eight girls his first day, and I sent eleven home. Although I understand, you've been a little slower on the eliminations."

"I've sent eleven girls home," Oliver tried weakly.

"In six weeks, darling," Eadlyn countered apologetically, "And you did offer additional assistance to the girl from St. George, so she hardly counts."

He exhaled exasperatedly and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. As he studied his mother, who looked tense, a though occurred to him. "Is something wrong?" he asked. "Is there a reason that we need to cut how much we're spending on the Selection?"

Although it happened so quickly that it was likely that everyone else missed it, Eadlyn's eyes briefly skipped towards Tristan, Everly, and Elijah before she forced a smile and insisted, "No, darling. It's simply politics. The public are eager for you to get to your Elite."

Oliver blanched. "You want me to pick the Elite already?"

"Of course not," she assured him, "For the moment, we'll settle with an elimination of four this week, two the week of the Harvest festival, and two the week after. Then, permitting things are going well, you should pick your Elite early in November, at which point I have assurance from my own Councils that you'll be left to your own schedule as far as further eliminations."

He felt like his head was spinning a little from the sudden time line that he'd been given. He'd been under the impression that the prince or princess in charge of the Selection was the one who set the pace, and it was overwhelming to be hearing different. Even Tristan, Elijah, and Everly looked uncomfortable with the new development.

For her part, his mother seemed openly apologetic. "I'm sorry, Oliver," she sighed, "It appears we've underestimated the cost of a true Selection. Like I said, both you grandfather and I sent a large group home in the beginning, and all of the girls in your grandfather's Selection stopped receiving any financial assistance before it was over."

"Is that what happened to yours too?" he frowned, wondering if they could cut costs by stopping the checks early. It wouldn't make him popular, but hopefully it'd give him more time to really figure out how he was feeling.

"I had an… expedited Selection in general," admitted Eadlyn, "for a plethora of reasons."

It must have been obvious that Oliver was beginning to panic, for Elijah leaned forward and offered lightly, "Don't worry, man. We're here to help you talk it all through." He grabbed the top file and scanned through it. "Adelaide? I'm guessing she goes in the stay pile, right?"

Despite his friend's attempt at being helpful, Oliver cringed at the idea of separating the girls into a pile of yes and no. It took an hour and too much honesty about how he was feeling about some of the girls, and by the time they adjourned, Oliver had only committed to sending two girls home and had agreed to take two of the maybes on dates to see what his final feeling was. It wasn't perfect, and Eadlyn told him that if he couldn't send four home this week, he'd have to do it next week, which made Oliver's stomach hurt.

When the rest of his Selection council had filed out of the room, Oliver hung back with his mom. "I saw your face when I asked if something was making it necessary for us to cut spending," he declared, "And besides that, you've been having me pouring over financial statements for the past two weeks. What is it, Mom?"

She sighed, and she suddenly looked more tired and worn down than Oliver had ever seen her. A moment later it was gone though, and she tried to smile. "It's Russia," she admitted, "We've been trying to renegotiate our trade agreement, and they're proving difficult. I don't know if Marid is in Regan's ear and she's in her husband, the prince's, but it's been exhausting. They'll be here next week for the Harvest Festival, so it will give us an opportunity to discuss matters in person, but if they continue to be challenging and we can't reach an agreement, I just need to make sure we're prepared to lose an ally."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Lose an ally?" he demanded. "A trade agreement can do all that?"

"It's not just trade that goes into it. It's mining rights off the coasts and oil drilling and—" She noticed the way that Oliver's face paled and put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it, darling," she ordered, "We're going to try our best to resolve it, and even if we don't, I'm taking precautionary measures." She gave him a hollow smile. "And I know it may be difficult, but make sure you're exceptionally kind to Regan and Prince Nikolai."

If it weren't for how worn down his mother looked, Oliver would have scoffed at the request. Instead, he sighed, "Alright, I will," and kissed his mom's cheek before he headed towards his room to write out the date invitations for the week.

Although it meant that he would be busy, he decided on three dates for the week. He needed to spend some time alone with Reyna and Ebony. Both girls were beautiful, but his fear was that Reyna wasn't very interested in him and that he himself was only shallowly interested in Ebony. He needed to figure out if they would join the other two girls he'd already committed to sending home. He'd also planned a date with Brynn, because he'd found himself thinking about her a lot lately and decided he'd hang out with the girls as a large group later in the day as well.

He stopped by Reyna's room after he'd left his mom and was glad to find that she was there. "Hey," he greeted her, "Are you up for that boxing lesson that we talked about?"

Her eyes flashed, and the happiest grin that he'd seen yet lit up her face. "Of course."

Twenty minutes later, they were in the palace gym, and Oliver was nervous.

"Alright, square up," Reyna ordered as she finished putting her gloves on.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not going to hit you," he countered, "You're a girl—"

His argument died when she hit him in the stomach so hard that he doubled over. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way," Reyna beamed as she flipped her braided hair over her shoulder, "Square up."

The surprise hit that she'd gotten made him feel a little less bad the first time that one of his punches actually landed. She raised her eyebrows, seeming impressed, but it didn't stop her from barking out orders at him and skillfully evading most of his hits. A half hour later when they stopped for a water break, Oliver was sticky with sweat despite the gym's air conditioning.

"Wow," Oliver breathed as he gulped his water.

Reyna seemed significantly less winded than him. "That's nothing," she countered dismissively, "You should see the cardio boxing program that I designed. It's only forty-five minutes, but it'll kick anyone's ass."

Oliver didn't doubt it. "This is what you should be doing," he told her, "I mean, I like the drinks that you mix too, but you seem so much happier."

She frowned as she started adjusting the tape on her hands. "Yeah, well, gotta pay the bills somehow."

It was Oliver's turn to frown. "Big family?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope, just me and my mom," she explained, "She's not… the healthiest."

"What happened to your dad?" he asked, and for a moment, he wished he hadn't because of the way that his eyes darkened.

She pulled her gloves back on and wandered over to one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. "When I was a baby, some family member of his died and left him a nice inheritance," she explained. She pulled back and hit the bag with the same intensity that had made Oliver's eyes water the first time up. The bag scuttled away from her. "He left her with me. I've heard he's got a new family, younger wife, two kids or something like that."

"You've never met him?" Oliver asked.

 _Wham._ Her glove slammed the bag again. "No," she answered, "And I don't want to."

"Is that why you entered the Selection?" Oliver asked. "For your mom?"

Reyna paused and turned to him, her brown eyes sad. "Bartending only does so much."

Oliver sighed and joined her, leaning against the abused punching bag. "Do you see yourself falling in love with me at all?"

Reyna stared down at her gloves for a long minute, and he had a feeling she was trying to decide whether to lie and try to stay for more money or be honest with the both of them. Finally, she met his eyes. "No. I'm sorry. You're a lot cooler than I expected, but I don't want to be a princess."

"That's fair," Oliver admitted.

"So, I guess this is it, huh?" Reyna frowned. She tugged off her gloves and held her hand out to him. "Thanks for everything though. I met some great people, and I have a feeling the money's really going to help out."

Oliver raised his eyebrows but didn't shake her hand. "Ready to throw in the towel already, Parilla?" he asked, "I'm shocked. You didn't seem like a quitter."

Her forehead crinkled in confusion. "Aren't you sending me home though?"

"Yes," Oliver confirmed, "but I have a proposition for you."

She looked wary but nodded at him to continue. "I really want a six pack," Oliver declared. "How would you feel about setting up shop here at a gym in Angeles until you can save up enough to open your own in Paloma? The pay would be better, especially with royal patronage. I'd fly your mom in to stay with you as well. Your money from the Selection should be more than enough to rent a place for you guys for a while."

It took a minute for the offer to sink in but when it did, Reyna instantly agreed, "Yes! Are you kidding?"

"You're here at _least_ until I get my six pack," he winked at her. He held out his hand, and this time, they did shake.

That night after dinner, Oliver requested that the girls hang back while the royal family left. He noticed that some girls always looked nervous when faced with the prospect of time along with the prince, while others looked confused or even a little bored. Twenty-three pairs of eyes swiveled to look at him, and he explained, "I thought we'd do something pretty casual tonight. So if you guys want to go change into something comfortable and then meet me in the theater, we're gonna have a movie night."

An excited murmur swept over the girls as they all hurried out of the dining hall to trade their dinner dresses for varying degrees of lounge wear. He stopped by the kitchens to request that some drinks, candy, popcorn, and chips be delivered to the theater.

At some point before he was born, his parents had remodeled the theater. For some reason, his mother had hated the old one, and it was much smaller now. It was still a large, handsome room: dark, velvety walls, six oversized couches strewn with comfortable pillows, and an enormous screen that dominated nearly an entire wall.

Clad in a pair of charcoal sweatpants and a black t-shirt, Oliver headed to the theater to find that the girls had already picked their seats. There were four of them to a couch, which was more than enough room, and Oliver settled onto the middle couch on the upper tier with Adelaide, Gabrielle, Cassandra, and Laine. "Did we decide what movie we're watching?" he asked.

"We voted," Laine informed him. She had pulled her strawberry blonde hair into a bun on top of her head and was wearing a pair of striped pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. One of the throw blankets that were always kept in the theater was draped over her shoulders, and she looked comfortable and very cuddle-able.

"Consensus?"

Laine's olive green eyes sparkled. " _America_."

Oliver felt every pair of eyes in the room on him, and he tried to look excited. _America_ was a two-and-a-half-hour long romance about a couple during the last days of the United States of America right before China had taken over. It had won all possible film awards when it had come out ten years ago and promptly skyrocketed everyone involved to superstar status. "Yay," he managed weakly. He grabbed a box of Swedish fish and nestled himself between Laine and Adelaide on the couch.

He'd walked in on his mother and Celine both crying to the movie once and promptly decided that it wasn't for him, but he figured if the girls had all managed to agree on one, it couldn't be the worst thing that had ever happened. "Ever seen this?" he whispered to Adelaide and Laine.

Laine shook her head mutely, her eyes locked on the opening screen. Oliver sighed. He knew Laine's mother was an actress, and her father was a stage performer, so she would probably be mesmerized by the classic film. "You?" he asked Addie.

She nodded. "My mom was actually friends with Alivia Bene," she whispered, referring to the actress that played one of the film's antagonists. "We had to go to the premiere."

"Really?" Oliver asked in surprise. "I went too with my Grandma Ames and my Uncle Osten."

"I know," Adelaide replied with a soft smile, "I spent most of the night standing on my tiptoes trying to see your grandmother. She's so beautiful."

"Crazy," chuckled Oliver, "We could've met that night." He wondered how different his life could've been—how different _he_ could've been—if he would've met Adelaide Nichols as a ten-year-old instead of in the Selection. Would they have been friends? Would he even be having a Selection?

Her smile grew. "That would've been nice."

He noticed Gabi shooting them an annoyed look, so he mouthed, "Sorry," and turned his attention to the screen for a moment.

But, god, the movie was just so boring. He turned his attention to Laine. "Like it so far?" he asked.

She looked pained, as though she was excited to talk to Oliver but hated to miss the movie. "Yes," she whispered back before her eyes locked on the screen again. He repressed a groan.

There was a commotion from one of the couches below, and he heard Xylie grouchily gasp, "Irina!" as a bowl of popcorn spilled.

Perfect opportunity. "I'll go get more!" Oliver immediately offered as he jumped to his feet. He grabbed Adelaide's hand and pulled her along with him.

"Not a romance fan?" she asked, amused, as they left the theater.

"Not romance movies, I guess," Oliver laughed, "They're just so boring. Especially that one. They don't give you a single battle scene."

Adelaide rolled her eyes. "Boys and war."

"It happens to be one of the few things I'm good at," Oliver countered.

"Really?" Adelaide asked, raising her eyebrows. "I wouldn't have guessed that. You're too…"

"Don't say it," he cautioned her.

"Sweet," she finished, ignoring his warning.

He groaned. "That's it. Now I've got to send you home. I have a rugged, manly reputation to uphold."

She laughed. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

Oliver pulled her closer to his side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Hey, I wanted to thank you," he suddenly remembered.

She looked surprised. "What for?" she asked, her deep blue eyes searching his face.

It made him a little uncomfortable to admit he'd been eavesdropping, but he explained, "I heard some of the girls… discussing me in the sun room the other day. But I also heard you stick up for me, and that, uh, means a lot."

To his surprise, Addie's cheeks flushed with anger, and her hands balled into fists. "They just made me so mad," she explained, "They're sitting around passing judgement on you while also enjoying your family's hospitality and making plans for the money that we're getting out of this. I know this is hard one everyone, but you're doing your best, and—"

He cut her off with a kiss. She was surprised for a minute, but then she tentatively wrapped her arms around him as their lips moved in sync. "What as that for?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know a lot of people that would've defended me like that," he admitted.

Adelaide smiled, and in an uncharacteristic moment of boldness, put her hand on Oliver's cheek. "I think there are than you think," she countered. "You really impact people, Oliver. Rosalie told me about Thalia, and…" She shook her head, as though she couldn't find the right words to explain what she thought about it.

It was Oliver's turn to blush. "We should, uh, go get the popcorn," he decided, "Everyone else is going to wonder what's taking so long." She nodded in agreement, and they talked of lighter things on the rest of their trip, like a poem that she'd written recently and how Oliver was trying to get things ready for the upcoming harvest festival. They didn't kiss again, after when they returned to the theater and delivered the popcorn refill, Oliver kept his hand laced with hers under the blanket.

He didn't get a chance to talk to many of the girls other than the ones that were on his couch with him, so he figured it wasn't the best group date, but it was nice to just hang out with everyone and relax. He was glad when _America_ was over and quickly suggested a new comedy before another romance could be suggested. Some of the girls had started to doze off, but everyone that was still alert agreed.

When the movie ended, Oliver was pretty sure that he was the last man standing. He'd dozed off for a moment in the middle, and in that time it looked like a few girls had left to return to their rooms for the night. The majority were still crowded on the couches with each other, and instead of wake everyone up, Oliver draped some blankets over them before he turned the movie off and headed to bed himself.

On his way back to his room, he passed by one of the doors to the garden and noticed that it was strangely ajar. His eyebrows furrowed as he opened the door and glanced out. He saw the outlines of two people in the darkness near one of the fountains. One of the figures was sitting on the edge of the fountain, while the other kneeled on the ground in front of her.

Oliver knew that he should probably just continue on to his room, but he'd always been a little nosy, and it got the best of him. He edged closer and paused behind a hedge. The seated person was Isolde, and she sounded as though she'd been crying. "I just…" She sighed deeply, and the pain in her voice made Oliver frown. "I don't think it's supposed to be this hard."

The man that was kneeling in front of her grabbed her hands. "Hey," he began reassuringly, and Oliver realized it was his brother. "Don't give up yet. Oliver… he's really understanding. Maybe if you just talked to him—"

Isolde cut him off, and god, she sounded so sad that Oliver just wanted to hug her. "Tristan." Oliver hazarded a glance and saw that Isolde had pulled her hands away and stood. "Maybe some people are meant to fall in love, but not be together."

When Tristan spoke, his voice sounded more determined than Oliver had ever heard. "Don't give up," he beseeched her, but Isolde had pulled away and was shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," she said as she pressed a hand over her mouth to physically repress her sob. She turned and fled the garden a moment later, and all Oliver could do was lean against the hedge, completely shocked and unnerved by what he'd just heard.

Isolde loved him. And she was afraid that he didn't love her. And okay, maybe it was a logical fear, because Oliver wasn't entirely sure how he felt about not just her, but everyone yet, but it sounded like she was ready to give up and leave.

And he didn't want that. Maybe he wasn't sure how Isolde fit into his life yet, but he _knew_ that she did. The thought seemed to jar him back to life, and he sprinted off towards the Selected's wing. He had to ask a guard which room was Isolde's, and as soon as he pointed it out, Oliver pounded on the door.

A maid answered and after she curtsied, she said, "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but Lady Isolde is—" She glanced over her shoulder, as though she was unsure of what to say.

"Please, can you tell her it's important?" Oliver requested insistently. The maid nodded and disappeared, and a moment later, Isolde appeared, clad in the same black sweatpants and gray sweatshirt that she'd worn to the movie night. Her eyes were rimmed with red as though she'd been crying, but she stood straight and proud as always.

"Oliver," she greeted him, though her face looked surprised.

He hadn't actually gotten to the point of what he was going to say once he saw her, so Oliver went with his instincts. He closed the space between them hurriedly before she could protest, and with his hands on each side of his face, pulled her lips to his. They were salty with fresh tears, and she was frozen in surprise, which didn't exactly make for the best kiss of Oliver's life, but he figured the point that he was trying to get across was more important.

"I heard you and Tristan in the gardens," he explained hurriedly afterwards, a little afraid that she would cut him off (she had a tendency to do that), "and just… please don't go, Isolde. I know that I have a lot of figuring out to do about my feelings, but I'm trying. I'm doing an elimination this week, and I can't tell you that I feel as strongly as you do, but I _do_ care about you. A lot."

Her mouth had dropped open in shock in response to their kiss, and she didn't manage to collect herself throughout his speech. Finally, as though shocked back to life by the tense silence that settled over them, she replied, "You… heard me and…"

Oliver nodded, feeling a little embarrassed about his spying now. "I know you guys are close friends, and I didn't mean to invade a personal conversation or anything, but I'm glad that I did," he admitted, "I need you here, Isolde. I need you to see this through with me to the end."

Fresh tears surged to her eyes, and she countered, "Oliver, this is really hard for me."

"I know," he replied. He'd certainly noticed how she'd seemed more down the past couple of days, starting around the time of their disastrous dinner cruise interaction, and much less like the confident, in control Isolde that had started the Selection. He didn't want to see the process defeat her, but he believed that she was strong enough to stick with it. "And if Tristan or Everly or I can help you in any way, honestly, Is, just let us know, but I don't think going home is going to solve anything."

She stared at him for a long moment before she admitted, "You're right. It won't solve things for any of us."

He grinned in relief. "Does that mean you'll stay?" She nodded, and he excitedly moved to kiss her again, but she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"I'm not really feeling well," she admitted, and if she was lying, it wasn't a hard sell from looking at her. "It's just been a hard night, and I'm kind of tired."

"Oh, yeah, I understand," Oliver nodded. "Why don't you have breakfast in your room tomorrow, relax a little? I'll send Tristan or Celine to check on you."

She smiled thinly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks, Oliver," she choked out before she disappeared behind the door.

He was a little relieved as he made his way back to his room, although there was still a nagging feeling of discomfort in his chest after his conversation with Isolde. He felt like he'd merely put a band aid on a problem that desperately needed stitches, and without action, the issue was going to fester and grow. "You're being dramatic," he mumbled to himself. He poured a glass of wine to help himself to sleep and pushed the thought out of his mind.

The whole Isolde situation was still heavy on his mind the next morning, and he called in Eleanor and Madison before breakfast. Reyna had left the night before, and the two girls didn't look exactly surprised when Oliver apologized but admitted that he didn't feel much of a connection with them. Madison, for her part, sounded excited to get back to her soccer team, and Eleanor breathed out what Oliver thought to be a sigh of relief. He had a feeling that the shy, bookish girl hadn't necessarily felt comfortable in the public eye.

His mother joined him after the girls had left. "Three is a good start," she told him with a smile. "Proud of you."

"Does this mean we're okay again?" he asked nervously. "It's a little exhausting walking on eggshells around you."

Eadlyn laughed. "I'm sure your father would agree," she noted, "but yes, I suppose you've made up for your indiscretion."

He grinned. "Awesome."

"Oh, before we go to breakfast, I thought you'd want to see these," Eadlyn offered as she held out _The Illéan Post_. "Official polls are in."

He nervously glanced at the newspaper. Luckily, it wasn't his approval ratings as he'd suspected, but instead a poll about which girls the public hoped to make the Elite. It was only the top five, and he wasn't surprised by any of the names, but it made him nervous. He hoped the other sixteen girls whose names weren't on the list didn't have too many hard feelings.

"Let's go get some breakfast," Oliver decided as he dropped the newspaper onto his already crowded desk. "I need my strength if I'm gonna make it to the harvest festival."

Eadlyn laughed. "Oh, my darling, you don't know the half of it. Prepare yourself for an entertaining week."

"It's gonna be a shit show, isn't it?"

"Oliver, language," she chastised.

"Yep. It's gonna be a shitshow."

She hit him on the arm with the discarded newspaper, but there was a wry smile on her face as they headed out of the office towards breakfast.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Well this took a million years, so my apologies. Special thanks to **wolfofstark** for helping me out with this :) As always, thanks for reading, you all are fantastic!

* * *

One of the few things that always made Oliver feel like he was a better choice for king over Tristan (aside from his age) was how nervous Tristan always got before foreign dignitaries arrived. "Stop fidgeting," Oliver ordered as he turned to his brother and straightened the tie that he'd been obsessing over. His eyes narrowed. "Are those my cuff links?"

Tristan ignored him. "Are you excited to see _Princess_ Regan?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I'm not excited to meet her bitch ass husband either."

There was a flurry of fanfare— _actual_ fanfare, which Oliver found ridiculous—as the doors of the throne room opened. A page announced, "Presenting Their Imperial Highnesses Grand Duke Nikolai and Duchess Regan Dragomirov of Russia."

 _Imperial._ Of course 'royal' wouldn't be enough for Nikolai. Oliver had never met the Russian prince, but he'd already decided he didn't like him. "Smile," Eadlyn murmured to him from her throne as the Russians approached.

Nikolai stopped at the foot of the platform that elevated the Illéan rulers and dropped into a deep bow. "King Kile, Queen Eadlyn," Nikolai simpered, "What a pleasure, Your Majesties."

"Welcome to Illéa, Grand Duke," Eadlyn smiled tightly, "And Regan, what a pleasure to see you again. Our sincerest congratulations on your recent marriage." Oliver wanted to roll his eyes. Regan had been married in April, so he didn't get why his mother was congratulating her, given that it was October.

Regan looked the same as Oliver remembered her: glossy brown hair, beautiful bone structure, tall and thin. Her brown eyes smiled warmly at the Queen but pointedly avoided Oliver. "I am so happy to be here, Your Majesty."

Eadlyn gestured to Oliver. "You remember Oliver, of course," she told Regan, effectively ignoring Nikolai who looked displeased. In a moment that was uncomfortable for both Regan and Oliver, they bowed to each other. Oliver wished that the Selected hadn't been summoned to greet the visiting dignitaries, because he heard a low buzz of conversation erupt at the visible tension between Regan and himself.

It seemed that Eadlyn noticed it too, and she turned to Tristan. "My younger son, Prince Tristan," she explained to Nikolai, who nodded politely at Tristan, "Dear, why don't you show the grand duke and duchess to their rooms? I'm sure they're tired after their long journey and would like to rest before dinner."

"Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty," Nikolai responded cloyingly before he and his wife followed Tristan from the throne room. The advisors and guards that they had brought followed the trio, and Oliver wished that his mother would have sent one of their guards with Tristan. It would've been bold of the Russians to try to harm any of the royal family in their own palace, but Oliver didn't trust Nikolai or Regan.

From beside him, Eadlyn reached out and patted his arm. "He'll be all right," she assured him in a low voice. More audibly, she added, "Celine, my love, your tiara is crooked." Oliver adjusted it for her.

"Do we have to _stand_ all day?" Celine complained quietly as she picked at one of the blue flowers on her gown.

Oliver bit back a laugh. "Just until the rest of the visitors arrive," he told her. "It shouldn't be that much longer."

The next guests were brought in, and any unease that the Russians had caused melted away. "His Royal—"

"Yes, yes," Raphael interrupted airily as he cut off the page, "Raphael Piero Giovanni da Villadeli, your humble servant, Your Glorious Excellence, Queen Eadlyn." He fell into such a low bow that Oliver surprised he didn't topple over.

"A pleasure as always, Raphael," laughed Eadlyn.

Aside from France, Italy was the country's closest ally, and formalities were sometimes difficult to maintain, especially when their prince was as… carefree as Raphael was. After he tossed another embellished greeting and dramatic flourish to Kile, he turned to Oliver. "Ah! There's the Royal Ruffian!" He technically broke protocol to deliver Oliver a rib crushing embrace, but it was the sort of thing that they were used to from Raphael.

"Where are all of your girlfriends?" he asked excitedly once he'd released Oliver. "I am anxious to steal one away from you, amico."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Not likely," he scoffed, "You look like you haven't shaved in about a month."

"It adds to my charm," Raphael insisted as he ran a hand over his facial hair. "We will talk of my romantic prowess later, though." He clapped Oliver on the shoulder, bowed once more to the queen and king, and made his way from the throne room, winking at some of the Selected on the way.

"Natalia has her hands full with that one," Eadlyn noted.

"Luckily, Italians seem to rule for a long time," Oliver laughed. "She just took over from Queen Nicoletta so it doesn't seem like Raphael will be up to bat for a while." Eadlyn nodded in agreement.

Despite what he'd told Celine, they were standing at their mother's side for at least another hour. The Harvest Festival was always a big draw, and they greeted the chancellor of the German Federation, the prime minister of Britannia, the son of the emperor of Sahara and his wife, a prince from Iberia, royals from both East New Asia and West New Asia, South Africa, and Swendway before Eadlyn finally stood and announced that the cocktail hour would commence before their dinner party.

After the last world war, many territories throughout the world had been reassigned. Larger countries reminiscent of ancient empires formed, as many countries, including Illéa, absorbed smaller areas under the idea that size was proportionate to power. Oliver had learned in a history lesson that the United States, Canada, and middle America had all been combined to form his current country, and he figured similar things had happened elsewhere in the world.

There were still some small, independent countries in places like what had been called South America and Australia and some islands in the south Pacific Ocean, but these places were mostly self-sufficient and kept to themselves. The thirteen major kingdoms and empires of the world had formed a regulation board called the Global Union, and of those thirteen countries, twelve had sent representatives to Illéa for the Harvest Festival. Only Central Africa, who was currently embroiled in border disputes with both Sahara and South Africa, had declined.

Granted, few countries had sent their heirs. It was always risky when a large group of royalty gathered, and for security purposes, many of the visitors were second sons or daughters that were ineligible for their crowns. Oliver understood, even if it wasn't a practice that he agreed with. To him, it seemed like they were saying that these children didn't matter as much, and Oliver would never have agreed to let his mother send Tristan somewhere in his place, even if it was for his own safety.

But there were some places that didn't have anyone other than a single heir, such as Iberia and West New Asia, or some crown princes that insisted on attending. It was an interesting mixture. Oliver had never really thought of how young his mother had been when she'd ascended to the throne, but looking around at the variety of people that had come to Illéa reminded him of it. Prince Mosi of Sahara, for example, had yet to take the throne, and he was Eadlyn's age. Oliver had heard that Mosi's father, Emperor Hasani, was still quite active at seventy-five.

Instead of the two usual rectangular tables, the dining hall featured several smaller, circular tables for the royals, Selected, diplomats, and guests that had been invited. The room was also decorated attractively, although the first thing that Oliver noticed was that the amount of guards present had been doubled in response to all of the high profile figures. As the room slowly began to fill, Oliver grabbed a glass of champagne and took a seat in a secluded corner for a brief to himself before he was expected to socialize.

His mother paid little mind to the fact that he had disappeared, as she at the high table with her twin brother, Ahren, king consort of France. Eadlyn and Ahren had always been close, as far as Oliver had heard, and it was hard to find Eadlyn in a bad mood when the French royal family was visiting. Oliver's uncle and twin cousins, Helene and Nanette, had all come for the Harvest Festival, while his oldest cousin and the heir to the French throne, Annalise, had stayed in France with Aunt Camille. The twins had dragged Everly off to their seats, and the trio were embroiled in what looked like a serious gossip session.

The Selected were all present, dressed in white at the queen's request in order to distinguish them from the guests. They were scattered about the room, all talking with different types of people. Samantha appeared to be complimenting the Saharan princess, Neema, on her vibrant blue gown, while Raphael had cornered an amused looking Mae and a startled Kaitlyn. Presley looked completely engrossed by the German chancellor, a strong and independent woman from what Oliver knew of her, and Irina, Xylie, and Ebony were all hanging on the words of the glamourous West New Asian Princess, Ryo.

Oliver had been so engrossed by the room that he didn't notice when a figure joined him. "Your mother still knows how to throw a wonderful party."

He stiffened at the sound of the voice. It felt like icy water had been dripped down his back, preventing him from moving. He steeled himself before he stood to face the intruder. "Regan," he sighed, unsurprised.

She'd changed since her arrival and was now clad in a mottled dove gray and black gown with long sleeves, a low neckline, and a high slit that trailed up her leg. Her hair was pulled into a twisted updo, and a Russian crown sat atop the glossy tendrils. The crown gleamed obnoxiously in his face, an ostentatious spark for Oliver's irritation. Celine had always been fascinated with royal jewelry, and he made a mental note to ask her if the crown that Regan had chosen to wear was one of Russia's biggest pieces. It seemed like such a Regan-like move.

"Hello to you too," she smiled, only momentarily surprised by his icy reception.

"Forget the rest of your dress in Russia?" Oliver asked as he sipped his champagne.

Regan laughed. "Oh, Ollie," she began condescendingly, "The perks of being a married woman: I can wear what I please. And besides…" She turned towards the room, her eyes doing a quick sweep. "It's no less than some of your Selected seem to favor." Her eyes rested on Mae for a moment, and Oliver had to physically bite his tongue as he reminded himself that his mother had told him to be nice to the Russians.

He wasn't sure if she had seen his temper flaring, but he was grateful when a moment later, Kaitlyn appeared by his side. "Hey," Oliver smiled in relief as he put an arm around her waist, "Duchess Regan, this is Lady Kaitlyn."

Regan's eyes flashed for a moment before she forced herself to smile. "What a pleasure, Lady Kaitlyn. How are you enjoying your time at the palace?"

Kaitlyn seemed both surprised but excited by Regan's apparent friendliness. "It's been wonderful," Kaitlyn beamed, "Oliver's the best."

Regan's smile shifted into a possessive sneer. "Yes, I know." Her strange response caused Kaitlyn's eyebrows to crease, but she was saved the trouble of responding when Nikolai appeared at his wife's side.

"Prince Oliver," Nikolai greeted him, looking much too cheerful for Oliver's liking. He tightened his grip on Kaitlyn's waist to keep himself calm, and she cast him a confused look that he ignored for the time being.

"Grand Duke," Oliver said, forcing himself to smile. "How are you enjoying your stay with us thus far?"

"Oh, quite well," he replied in his thick accent. He pulled Regan close to him. "I have always wished to see my wife's rightful country."

Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I believe you mean 'native'," he offered politely.

Nikolai's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find my English is quite well, Prince Oliver," he countered, "I meant rightful. After all, she is an Illéa, is she not?"

A tense, heavy silence settled over the four, and even Regan looked surprised by her husband's blatant rudeness. Oliver's jaw tensed, and he wasn't sure if he imagined the pressure that Kaitlyn's hand was exerting on his arm, like she was physically trying to restrain him. "I think you'll find that she is a Dragomirov now," he retorted evenly.

Nikolai turned to examine his wife, who was avoiding his eyes. "Indeed she is," he agreed. He turned his gaze to Oliver, a threat lurking just behind the blue irises. "I'd thank you to remember that, Your Highness."

Both Regan and Kaitlyn seemed concerned by the animosity between the men, and they each moved to separate Oliver and Nikolai. "Darling, I believe Prince Hugo is waving at us," Regan offered lamely, even though Prince Hugo was talking to Tristan. "It would be rude of us to ignore him."

"Yes," Nikolai agreed, maintaining eye contact with Oliver as he allowed his wife to lead him away. "Until next time, Oliver."

Kaitlyn had put a hand on Oliver's chest after Nikolai's initial challenge, and she now used it to forcefully direct him towards the high table where his parents were. She was a lot stronger than he would have guessed, but he supposed working as a nurse required her to be able to handle those heavier than her. "What was that all about?" she mumbled nervously as she glanced over her shoulder at the Russian royals.

"Ancient history," Oliver countered vaguely. She still looked concerned, and he sighed, taking her hand from his chest and kissing the white knuckles. "Sorry. I should've kept it together. Grand Duke Nikolai has a reputation for being inflammatory."

"It seemed, uh, personal," Kaitlyn noted.

Oliver tried to keep his face neutral and shrugged. "Regan is an Illéa by birth. I suppose that makes Nikolai think he's got a claim on the country. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why he agreed to Marid's stupid match," he frowned.

"Does he?" she asked nervously.

Oliver grabbed a fresh glass of champagne and offered one to Kaitlyn, who still looked anxious. "I suppose," he admitted, "But my mom has a clause in the official line of succession that ensures the throne would pass to our French family before any of the Illéas, so Regan's like fourteenth in line anyway." He almost kissed Kaitlyn's forehead but then remembered that the rest of the Selected were present and settled for giving her a one-armed hug. "Why don't you go talk with Princess Yoshiko? I think the two of you would get along. I have to speak with my mother about Nikolai anyway."

Kaitlyn nodded and headed in the direction of the East New Asian princess, and Oliver joined his mom and uncle. "Oliver!" Ahren greeted him, throwing a casual arm around his shoulder. "Got to say, your Selection has certainly been more interesting than your mom's."

Eadlyn rolled her eyes. "You weren't even here for the whole thing," she countered, "You don't know that."

"So, who are the front runners?" Ahren asked as he ignored his sister and turned to face his nephew.

"Oh, uh…" Oliver nervously twisted one of his cuff links, taken aback by the question. "I like… a few girls a lot."

Ahren grinned. "So, getting ready for that Elite?"

Oliver blanched. "I still have twenty-one girls!" he countered defensively.

"Ahren, leave him alone," Eadlyn interjected. She rolled her eyes at her brother. "So, Ol," she noted, "I saw you talking to Regan and Nikolai."

Oliver frowned. "He's an asshole," he declared. "He tried to say that Illéa was rightfully Regan's."

To his surprise, neither his mom nor uncle looked surprised. "We suspected he thought as much," shrugged Ahren, "Why else would he agree to marry her? He's not the tsar's heir—he has an older brother who's much easier to like—but he still could've married better."

"Regan's not _bad_ ," Oliver countered automatically before he frowned at himself. "I mean, at least the Regan I knew when were kids—"

Eadlyn put a hand on his arm. "Ahren just meant that he could've married a noblewoman," she offered. "I'm sure he and Marid have more plans and plots than I could guess." She squeezed her son's hand before she stood and made her way towards Prince Mosi and the Prime Minister from Britannia.

"That doesn't bother you?" Oliver frowned as he glanced at his Uncle Ahren.

Ahren laughed. "He's all bark and no bite," he declared, "Even if he ever wanted to cause problems, he doesn't have the power. I think his father knows what a little psychopath he is and purposely keeps him on a short leash."

Oliver relaxed slightly. "Have you gotten to talk with any of the girls?" he asked.

Ahren shook his head. "Everly's filled me in a bit," he admitted, "but other than that, just what the media's been reporting."

Oliver cringed. "Great. Well, did you bring any of that world class Uncle Ahren advice for me?"

His uncle laughed. "Honestly, Ol?" His dark brown eyes looked amused, and Oliver frowned. It always felt like someone was laughing at him. "Send some girls home."

"What?"

Ahren shrugged. "It seems like you're trying to force some connections," he admitted, "That you've approached this a little too fairly."

Great. He'd gone from completely incompetent to too fair. "I don't want to miss out on something," Oliver mumbled weakly. His uncle regarded him with a suspicious look, and Oliver sighed. "Okay, and sending people home really sucks. Sometimes they get mad at me."

"I'm just saying, the quicker you narrow it down, the more time you have to explore some real connections," reasoned his uncle.

He hated what his uncle was saying because it made sense. Having one nice date or doing one special thing for a girl before he sent her home didn't make it much better. "I'll work on it," he promised. "I wish I could just do some drugs and have a big psychedelic epiphany about who The One is."

His uncle choked on his champagne. "Don't let your mother catch you saying that," he snorted, "Dad said she almost locked you up a couple of weeks ago."

Although it had been a little scary at the time, Oliver smiled in amusement at the memory of his mother hitting him with the newspaper that had broadcast his indiscretion at Opium. "Don't worry," he assured his uncle, "Pretty sure those days are behind me."

"Oh, yeah?"

Oliver's eyes swept over the white clad Elite. "It's kind of weird, but I think I'm really warming up to the idea of having fun with one girl instead of all the randoms."

"It's a Harvest Miracle," his uncle declared. "Proud of you, Ol." He clapped him on the shoulder before he joined Kile at one of the hors d'oeurves tables.

While he had a moment to himself, Oliver decided to check in with some of the Selected. He hadn't talked to Margaery since she'd asked for some space on the dinner cruise, and when he spotted her talking to Princess Neema, he figured it was the perfect opportunity to approach her. She couldn't run away in front of the Saharan princess.

"Your Highness, Lady Margaery," he greeted them brightly, politely inclining his head to the princess, who responded by bending ever so slightly to him.

Princess Neema was not royalty by birth, although no one would have guessed based on how she conducted herself. In any interaction that Oliver had ever had with her, she'd always been friendly and inviting while also maintaining a quiet dignity and elegance. She was old enough to remember Oliver as a child, but her face was not mapped by any lines. To a stranger, she might be Oliver's peer, rather than twenty years older than him.

Her voice was deeper for a woman but with a warm resonance and an accent that distinguished her as Saharan. "Oh, Your Highness," Neema smiled at him, "You seem to grow taller and more handsome every time I visit your beautiful country."

Oliver blushed. "I see you've met Lady Margaery," he noted.

"Yes, one of your Selected, I'm told," Neema nodded, turning her warm, honey colored eyes to Margaery. While her skin was dark and her hair nearly black, Neema's eyes always reminded Oliver of topazes, brown with bright, almost orange undertones.

"We have a similar process in my country," Neema told Margaery, "although I don't believe it takes as long as the Selection."

"Really?" Margaery looked interested and a little surprised.

Neema nodded. "When the King's heir comes of age, girls are brought from every village in Sahara. Hundreds."

Although Oliver considered himself well acquainted with Saharan customs, he realized that he had never heard about how Neema had become Prince Mosi's wife, probably because it had happened before he had been born. "Hundreds?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He didn't know how he was supposed to pick from thirty-five. The idea that Mosi had managed to find Neema out of hundreds… His stomach lurched at the thought.

Neema looked amused. "It is different," she admitted, "There are basic skills we are expected to have, so it allows many of the girls to be dismissed. When the pool gets small enough, we were brought to the palace to live for a week."

"Do you spend much time with the prince throughout that week?" Margaery asked.

Neema laughed. "We did not even speak with him," she countered, "We exist, only observing and being observed. After our week, the king's advisors send home those who they do not think are ready to be princess. Then we were introduced to our prince."

"How long did it take him to pick you?" Oliver asked. It was a bit invasive, but his curiosity had been piqued.

Neema smiled as her eyes landed on her husband across the room. "One conversation," she declared. "He sent the other fifty girls home that very day, and my life has never been the same since."

The champagne that he'd consumed rebelled in Oliver's stomach, and he suddenly wished that Neema hadn't told the story. If Mosi could pick Neema out of hundreds of girls after one conversation, why the hell couldn't he pick someone after six weeks? He wondered if Margaery was thinking the same thing, but when he glanced at her, she looked too starry eyed over the romantic story to realize Oliver's incompetence.

"Did you know after that conversation too?" Margaery asked the princess.

There was a far-away look in Neema's light eyes, as though she was remembering the very conversation. "I trusted in our prince," she answered, "My palms did not sweat, and I did not have those 'butterflies' that everyone always talks about. But I felt calm and at home."

Her gaze turned to Oliver, and she smiled. "You have a good prince, Lady Margaery," she noted, "Trust him." And then she nodded at the pair and made her way across the room to her husband's side, leaving the pair alone.

Oliver was a little nervous when he glanced at Margaery. But to his relief, she smiled. "She's right," she decided, "We do have a good prince." And though it wasn't as out rightly romantic as some of their other moments, she made Oliver's heart pound as she reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Xylie dragged him away to the dance floor. The royal orchestra was playing a song that Oliver didn't recognize, but he found that it made dancing seem not so monotonous. "Having fun?" he asked Xylie brightly, feeling invigorated by the music.

"The best," she confirmed. As he twirled her, he caught notice of her usual watermelon lemonade scent and pulled her a little closer, which made her giggle in a pleased manner. "Tell me about the Harvest Festival," she requested.

"It's always a lot of fun," he noted, "There'll be games and animals and way too much food."

Xylie looked excited, as she always did when she was around Oliver. Sometimes he wondered if it was a forced excitement. "It's a little surreal to see so many different princes and princesses here," she noted as she scanned the room briefly.

"Met any that you liked?" he asked.

"Princess Ryo is really inspiring," noted Xylie, "She's obviously beautiful but seems really intelligent as well."

"A perfect princess," Oliver agreed. While the New Asian countries usually did not allow women to inherit the crown, Ryo's father, Emperor Zhu had never had a son despite his best efforts. As a result, Ryo, as the oldest of eight girls, was his heir. He'd always thought Ryo seemed a little cold, but he attributed it to the stress of being in line for a job no one thought she was fit to have.

Xylie swallowed deeply. "Can I talk to you about something?" she asked.

"Sure," shrugged Oliver, "What's going on?"

"I just—"

She was interrupted when Elijah appeared at his side. "Can I borrow him?" Elijah asked.

Xylie looked pained, but she forced a smile. "We'll talk later," Oliver assured her before Elijah tore him away. "What's going on?" he asked, confused. Elijah looked like he was barely repressing laughter.

"Do you see that girl?" he asked as he pointed.

Oliver smacked his hand out of the air. "You're a lord now, you can't _point_ ," he admonished. But he followed his friend's gaze across the room. He'd pointed out a tall, tan woman with dark hair and green eyes. She had an elegant face, but she was clad in a strapless, sparkly crimson gown with a skirt that was a little too high. It was an outfit that his mother would never have approved of, aside from the enormous, diamond encrusted choker at her throat. She was talking with one of the Russian courtiers that had accompanied Nikolai and Regan, but her eyes were wistful as they drifted around the room.

"Yeah," Oliver shrugged, "What about her?"

"That's Lady Sara Kosma," Elijah explained, looking gleeful, "She's Nikolai's mistress."

"What?" Oliver nearly choked on his champagne. Nikolai had brought his mistress on a royal visit to his _wife's_ native country?

"Celine says the necklace she's wearing were part of the Austrian crown jewels," noted Elijah, "Rumor is that it was one of her consolation gifts from when Nikolai married Regan."

"Her presence is disrespectful."

Oliver jumped when he saw his cousin, Nanette, standing beside him. She was wearing a blush gown, her blonde hair piled upon her head, and her usually playful face looked serious. "As if the idea of a mistress isn't scandalous enough," she scoffed, "To actually bring her with you."

For a moment, Oliver felt bad for Regan. He knew that sometimes kings took mistresses if they bored of their wives or if their queens failed to produce a male heir—his own grandfather Clarkson had done so—but he agreed that it was a little surprising that Nikolai had decided to bring her.

He also felt bad for Lady Sara though. Aside from her own countrymen, no one was talking to her. He even noticed a few of the women from the German and Italian parties shooting her noticeably unkind looks and not even bothering to conceal their gossiping. For her part, Sara stood tall, and if the reception that she was receiving bothered her, she didn't let on.

Despite the fact that he had no idea which girl would eventually be his wife, he couldn't imagine ever asking her to accept a mistress. He supposed that was one of the plus sides to the Selection. If he found the love of his life, he'd never need anyone else anyway. "Don't be mean," he weakly tried.

Nanette rolled her eyes. "Of course, I forgot that you'd never be mean to a pretty girl," she countered dismissively. "I cannot believe your mother has allowed her to attend though."

"I heard Nikolai made her a countess just so she could stay at Russian court," Elijah continued.

"Have you always been this nosy?" demanded Oliver.

"Yes," declared Elijah, "And you usually are too. Are you feeling okay?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "It doesn't feel great when people are always weighing in on your life," he retorted. He found himself oddly annoyed with his cousin and friend and excused himself to grab a snack. As he munched on a crab cake, he kept glancing in the direction of Lady Sara. Despite what he'd said to Elijah and Nanette, he was unsettled by her presence for some reason.

He was surprised when he saw Margaery and Mae approach her. They greeted her warmly—curtseying, as was appropriate considering she was a countess—and Sara seemed pleased to have someone to talk to outside her own party. Regardless of how Oliver felt about her position as mistress to a married man, he smiled as he watched his girls welcome Sara.

The orchestra started to play another song, and as Oliver listened to it, he realized he once again was unfamiliar with it. His curiosity turned from the Russian mistress to the mystery music, and he ventured towards the conductor. "Your Highness," smiled Signor Calavali.

"Is this new music?" Oliver asked. "I don't think I've heard you play it before."

Calavali looked amused. "Do you approve, Your Highness?"

"Highly," admitted Oliver.

"I think the composer would be overjoyed to hear you say so," noted Calavali.

"Is he here?" Oliver asked, looking surprised. He scanned the Russian and German groups briefly. It was probably one of them. He didn't know what it was about the two countries, but they seemed to breed incredible musicians.

"Lady Cassandra has been working quite diligently on her compositions, and she was kind enough to share a few with me," Calavali declared, causing Oliver's jaw to drop.

Oliver immediately made a beeline to the table where Cassandra was seated with Brynn, Gabi, and Kaitlyn. "You wrote this?" he demanded.

Cassandra blushed deeply, her entire face reddening. The girls sitting with her looked proud, and Oliver was a little bummed that he was the only one who seemed unaware that she'd been working so hard on her music. Slowly, she nodded.

"It seems a shame not to dance to your own masterpiece," he noted as he held a hand out.

It took Brynn literally nudging her out of her seat for Cassandra to agree, but eventually Oliver was able to coax her onto the dance floor. "Cassandra, these are incredible," he complimented.

"It's crazy to hear the _Royal Orchestra_ playing my music," she admitted. Her face was still flushed, but it seemed to be pride rather than embarrassment that brought the color to her cheeks this time. "Oooh, listen to this obo solo!"

Oliver did as instructed and watched as her honey brown eyes fluttered shut as she focused on the music. She sighed when the moment had passed and smiled widely at him when she opened her eyes again. "All I've ever wanted to do was be a musician," she smiled. "This is the next best thing."

"I've never heard you play," Oliver realized.

Cassandra nervously chewed on her lip for a moment, before she asked, "Would you like to?"

"Very soon," Oliver nodded in agreement, "I could bring Calavali along. He's already in love with your score, and if he likes your playing—"

But Cassandra energetically shook her head, nearly causing her light brown hair to tumble from its usual bun. "I'm not nearly good enough to trouble Signor Calavali," she countered. "But I'd love to play for you sometime."

Although he doubted that she was giving herself enough credit, he decided not to push it for the moment. "We'll make time this week," he decided. Cassandra smiled widely, and they finished the rest of the dance in silence, focusing on the beautiful music.

After his dance with Cassandra, his mother brought a silence upon the room and announced that dinner would be served. He took his seat beside her at the high table, which consisted of other rulers, such as his Uncle Ahren, or direct heirs, like Prince Mosi and Raphael. He noticed that Nikolai looked annoyed at being allocated to a lesser table, despite the honor of being seated with the French princesses and Tristan. He allowed himself to enjoy his moment of feeling more important than Nikolai and launched into an energetic conversation with Prince Tae of East New Asia.

Exhausted barely covered how Oliver felt when he finally returned to his room. He couldn't imagine how the girls felt after standing around in heels all day. His own feet hurt so badly from his Italian leather dress shoes that he'd kicked them off as soon as he'd reached the royal family's floor. By the time he'd reached his bedroom, he'd also shrugged off his suit jacket and untangled his bow tie.

"Anderson, could you start the shower?" he asked as he walked into his dark bedroom. He was a little confused about the lack of light and fumbled around as he searched for the switch.

"Want some company?"

Oliver jumped and hastily swiped both hands over the wall until he caught the light. "Regan." His eyes narrowed at the brunette lounging on his couch. She was still dressed in the silk evening gown she'd worn to dinner, but her hair had been released from its tight updo and tumbled in waves around her shoulders. It reminded him of the Regan he'd known a few years ago, and he tightened his fist around his suit jacket to resist the sudden urge to drag his fingers through the chocolatey strands.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "How'd you even get in here?"

Regan's dark eyes glittered. "There was once a time when you would have been overjoyed by my sneaking in."

"Times change," Oliver shot back bitterly. "Where's your husband?"

Regan ignored the question and rose from her relaxed seat. Oliver felt himself holding his breath as she walked towards him and tried to imitate a calm inhale. Even after all the girls that he'd met, whether Selected or random models or noblewomen, no one could make him feel like a clumsy boy like Regan could.

She stopped much too close to him to be appropriate, and there was an alarm in the back of Oliver's head warning him that they would be in too much trouble if someone happened upon them. Her slim, soft hands slowly trailed down his dress shirt and back up, pausing at the neck of the shirt. "It was strange to see you tonight," she admitted as she unbuttoned the neck of his shirt. "I didn't think it'd be…" She frowned, and without the force haughtiness and regality in her voice, she reminded Oliver of the sweet girl he'd known.

The sweet girl he'd loved.

He forced himself to back away from her, and he saw the teasing light return to her eyes when he bumped into the wall behind him. "That's your problem," he declared, "You _never_ think."

"That's rich coming from you," she chuckled. She took a step back though, and Oliver snuck past her, making a beeline for the liquor cabinet. "So," Regan declared, and any sentimentality was gone, "you had your Selection after all."

Oliver didn't respond as he fixed his drink. Instead, he tried to use the burn of the whiskey as it slid down his throat as an anchor to keep him in the present when the pull of the past was so appealing. "And you've gotten your prince," he pointed out as he turned to face her. He tried to focus on all of the anger that he'd harbored the past few years, but it was hard to summon it when he found himself swimming in the amber tinged brown eyes that he'd longed for.

Although he expected a withering reply, she simply shrugged her thin shoulders. "We both knew my father. It would happen one way or another."

Oliver tried to remind himself of the twenty-one girls that had completely uprooted their lives to be there for him. He tried to think of sweet Adelaide, hilarious Patricia, sensible Presley, bubbly Gabi, talented Samantha, awkwardly adorable Kaitlyn. He tried to think of Mae and their silly poolside lift, or of the snow leopard that he'd named for Margaery. But there was an ache in his chest that was impossible to ignore.

It had always amused Oliver when people remarked upon his careless behavior towards relationships and romance. He'd never contradicted the many girls that he'd charmed when they accused him of being heartless or uncaring. In a way it was true, because he'd once cared far too much.

She was two years older than him, and when they were younger, she'd been the one person that Oliver seemed to avoid intentionally irritating or picking on. She impressed and intrigued him. Oliver had never minded Marid as a child despite his mother's constant complaints about him, because when Marid was at the castle, it meant that Regan was too.

Regan Illéa had been a lot of his firsts.

"You know, I never asked," Oliver chuckled bitterly, "How long after I proposed did it take you to decide you were going to marry Nikolai?"

She had the decency to look ashamed for a moment. "We were stupid," she countered dismissively, the cruel smile that he was beginning to hate contorting her beautiful face, "I was always going to marry Nikolai. Just like you were always going to be your mother's pawn in this glorious Selection that you Schreaves love—"

"What are you doing here, Regan?" he demanded, tired of the games that she always seemed to be playing. When they were younger, they'd made her seem mysterious, like a big enigma he could unravel. Now, they seemed petty and malicious.

Her eyes danced. "I'm here for the Harvest Festival," she responded playfully, "Grand Duchess of Russia, remember?"

"Every day," Oliver ground out. He poured himself another glass of whiskey and drank it painfully slowly.

She casually joined him at the liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink. "Tsar Anatoly has given Nikolai free reign to negotiate the trade deal with your mother," she explained, "He's going to make her a terrible offer that you _must_ convince her to accept."

Oliver snorted. "Why on earth would I do that? My mother's an incredible negotiator. I think your husband is just afraid that he won't be able to get anything out of her."

Regan's dark eyes were hard. "Do you realize how demilitarized Illéa is compared to other countries?" she demanded. "How easily it could be attacked?"

Oliver frowned as he prepared to defend his country. But when he took a moment to consider Regan's accusation, he realized that it wasn't unfounded. He'd scoured through enough military documents in the last couple of weeks to know that. He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't want to see you get hurt," she answered softly.

Oliver laughed derisively. "I might actually believe that if it came from anyone other than _you._ "

She sighed. "Just because I was realistic about what was possible for us, Oliver—"

"Cut the bullshit," Oliver snapped as he slammed his glass done on top of the cabinet. "Anything was possible for us."

The smile that she gave him was sad, like he had reminded her of a painful idea that she'd once believed in too. "You princes always think that," she noted. She reached out and rested one pale hand against his cheek. "Please, just remember what I said. Nikolai needs little provocation." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek before she turned for the door.

The question that Oliver had been choking on since he'd seen her felt like acid in his mouth. "Why didn't you say goodbye?" he finally asked. He expected to breathe more easily once the question was free, the question that had sparked so much insecurity for him. He'd spent weeks obsessing over it immediately after she'd left for Russia and had almost believed that she'd be coming back up until the day she'd gotten married earlier that spring. But he held his breath as he waited for the response.

Regan paused at the door but didn't turn back around. "I've never been good at goodbyes," she admitted, the same amused lilt in her voice. Then, she pulled the door open and was gone.

He supposed he'd wanted her to say that she'd loved him too much to say goodbye, if for nothing other than his own ego, and her response didn't quell any of the anger or insecurity that her departure had caused him. He'd always known that Regan was fickle, easily changeable. And while he had no desire to return to what they had, her casual attitude towards their parting made him worry about the Selection. It was his best shot at love. But Regan seemed to remind him of the possibility that just because he fell in love with someone didn't mean that they would love him too.

He abandoned his glass and glanced around his room. It felt crowded with memories of Regan and who he used to be, and for the moment, Oliver needed to escape. He changed into a pair of sweatpants, slippers, and a t-shirt before he headed towards the library. His goal was to grab one of the horrendously boring books Tristan was always trying to get him to read in hopes that its tedium would lull him to sleep.

He hadn't expected the library to be occupied, and he wasn't sure whether he or Laine were more surprised to see each other. He was glad to see her though, as her smiling face helped to relieve the knot of tension that Regan had inserted into his chest. "Hey," he smiled, "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not," answered Laine with a laugh. "It's your library."

He decided not to contest her statement, although the palace was technically property of the government rather than the royal family directly. "What are you reading?" he asked as he browsed the shelves nearest the door, keeping an eye out for Tristan's favorite authors.

"It's something that Princess Clara recommended," she explained, "It's called _Simon and the Oaks._ Apparently it's a classic in Swendway."

Oliver grabbed a book and settled down on the couch in front of the fireplace beside her. "Do you like reading?" he asked.

Laine shrugged. "I like different things."

"Different how?" Oliver asked.

Laine closed her book, although she kept a finger on her page. "Like meeting people from all around the world today? That's the kind of different I like," she explained, "I want adventure."

As prince, Oliver was fortunate enough to have had his fair share of adventures, but he thought he understood what she meant. "What, you mean you don't foreign dignitaries every week in Denbeigh?"

Laine snorted and pushed a lock of her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. "Never," she admitted, "My world is fairly… concise."

"How so?" Oliver asked. He realized he didn't know much about Laine's background, which bothered him. She was beautiful, of course, but he didn't like that he didn't know her better, considering she'd been there for over a month already.

"Well," Laine began, "My mom is a television actress. My father is a theater actor. I'm a dancer."

"Ah," noted Oliver, "So, basically, performing is your entire life?"

She nodded. "If it's not an audition, it's a rehearsal, or a showcase, or _something_." She paused before she added, "I love dancing, but I don't want it to be my entire life."

He felt the same way about being king, but he felt like it wasn't as possible for him to obtain a separation between his occupation and life. "Well, how has the Selection been for adventure so far?" he asked, trying to keep the mood light.

"It was kind of an impulsive, last minute decision initially," she laughed, "but I'm glad I made it. I mean, I had dinner with a Swendish princess tonight. That was pretty cool. And…" She blushed a little before she pressed on. "Well, I'm sitting in the library of the palace with the crown prince of our country in his pajamas. How many other people can say that's something they've done?"

Oliver laughed. "Only you so far," he admitted, "If this is the extent of the adventure that the Selection's offered you though, I feel a little underwhelming."

Laine's eyes flashed excitedly. "I mean, if you had more of an adventure in mind…"

"After the harvest festival, I'm taking you on a _real_ adventure," he declared. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?" She shook her head excitedly. "Good," smirked Oliver, "Keep next weekend free. We've got plans." He picked up his book and left Laine looking excited as she attempted to return her attention to the novel in her hands.

Oliver's pace slowed a little on his way back to his room when he heard a flirty laugh. It sounded like Lady Ebony, and his brow furrowed in concern when he heard Raphael telling her about the Amalfi coast in Italy. "It sounds beautiful," Ebony murmured coquettishly, "I'd love to see it one day."

"Well, my dear," he heard Raphael begin, his voice low and husky.

Oliver sped up to round the corner and join the pair. "Hey guys!" he exclaimed loudly, causing Ebony to jump away from the Italian prince. Raphael looked shameless and grinned at his friend. "What's going on?"

For the first time since he'd met her, Ebony looked nervous, as though she was aware that she'd almost put herself in a very dangerous position. Her silky white dress, which had been enticingly beautiful at the dinner party, seemed a little _too_ tight and added to the impropriety of the situation. "I just ran into Raph—Prince Raphael on my way back to my room," she explained. "But it's late, and I should be going," she added as she bowed to both men and hurried down the hall.

"What did you do that for?" Raphael complained to Oliver. "She was very beautiful."

Oliver sent his friend a warning look. "Raph, you can't. You know the rules. I know you do, because my mother specifically sent your mother a letter about it."

"Which she read to me morning and night," laughed Raphael. "What, does no one trust me?"

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "I think if there's one person that anyone in this palace trusts around women less than me, it's you," he noted.

Raphael sighed, seeming disappointed. "I suppose I'll just have to live vicariously through you," he noted as he tossed an arm around Oliver's shoulders. "Tell me, who is the best at making love?"

Oliver's cheeks instantly burned crimson. "I'm trying to find my _wife_ , and that's all you—"

"I am a passionate man," countered Raphael simply, as though he saw nothing wrong with his question. "Now come, details, or do I have to befriend Nikolai and ask about his beautiful mistress?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I haven't—the Selection isn't like—"

Raphael looked horrorstruck. "Thirty-five beautiful women, and you've been living like a priest?"

"This is why we don't invite you to visit more often."

"I would suspect as much from Tristan, but you! It's like I don't even know you anymore, amico!"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Have I ever told you that you're the most dramatic person I've ever met?"

Raphael ignored his comment and gave Oliver a once over. "Is everything alright? You're not ill, are you? Having mechanical problems—"

"No!" snapped Oliver. "Everything's working fine, thanks."

Raphael seemed thoroughly perplexed. "Then what is the problem?" he asked. "You think they're attractive, don't you?"

"Of course," huffed Oliver. "I'm just looking for something… more important. I guess I haven't thought about the physical aspect too much."

"Well, that's new," quipped Raphael. "But what do you mean, more important?"

Oliver frowned and crossed his arms. Aside from Elijah and Tristan, Raphael was his closest friend, but he still found it difficult to articulate what he meant. "I don't know," he shrugged, "You believe in soul mates?"

It didn't help that Raphael burst into raucous laughter at this. "This is why I will never marry," he declared, "I will save myself all sorts of trouble and leave the country to one of my bastard children."

"You're impossible," noted Oliver. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what Tristan felt like when he talked to him.

"I'll entertain the notion for a moment though," he relented, sounding less joking. "If you have a soul mate, how will you know that it's her?"

It was something Oliver had thought about many times. He desperately wanted one of the Selected to be his perfect match. But he'd already given up on the notion of love at first sight and was beginning to wonder if he was hoping for too much. "I want someone that I feel like is made from the same thing as me, whatever that is," he explained, "Someone that it feels like I would find and fall in love with no matter what."

Raphael looked unimpressed. "That's vague," he noted, "and sounds boring. Don't you want fire and passion?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know, man."

Raphael sighed. "Well, I suppose if you're set on finding someone you're actually going to keep around for the rest of our lives, I'm going to have to stick around and help you so you don't completely screw this up."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Don't you have a country to run?"

"Of course not," scoffed Raphael, "Sometimes I think my mother intends to just live forever so Italy never has to deal with me. No, you're stuck with me, Schreave. We'll find your other half… whatever that means." He hit Oliver on the back—forcefully—before he headed towards his room on the floor for the visiting royalty. "See you tomorrow, Princess."

Oliver rolled his eyes but deep down he was a little grateful. He'd probably need all the help he could get.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** I really can't believe we're already on chapter 17! Thank you to everyone for the continued support, as always, you guys really make my day :) The story's focus is beginning to narrow, which is really exciting for me as the author, so I hope you all enjoy it as well. Dates are going to transition a little more from the group setting, so there's a poll on my profile about who you'd like to see longer chapters about!

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Oliver really loved the Harvest Festival.

Some of his favorite childhood memories had been formed at the celebration. He remembered the first time his Grandma America had helped him make a candied apple, holding Celine up to pet the horses that pulled the hay wagons when she was only a few years old, and getting his younger brother so hopelessly lost in the corn maze that Tristan had sobbed hysterically until he was rescued by a guard (Oliver had been grounded for that one).

He'd always claimed that nothing could put him in a bad mood the day of the Harvest Festival; however, that didn't mean that people didn't try.

The day had gotten off to a rocky start when he'd been pulled in by his mother to sit in on the negotiations with Nikolai. He'd told her what Regan had said about Illéa's military being under developed, and while he had shrugged it off, his mom had seemed to take the threat seriously. She'd told him to let her do the talking, and he'd been forced to sit beside her seething while Nikolai tossed thinly veiled insults at both their regime and their country as a whole.

Luckily, he'd had a training session with Reyna afterwards, and he'd spent the hour pretending that the punching bag he was hitting was Nikolai's face.

In the end, Eadlyn had put him off. She hadn't agreed to his terms, but she hadn't denied them either, and she explained to Oliver that she was trying to stall in order to get in direct contact with Tsar Anatoly. "Nikolai has insulted our alliance," she explained, "Even if his father doesn't decide to rectify the situation, it'll give us time to prepare for any possible repercussion." She'd explained the situation to him with confidence, although Oliver could tell that she was concerned. The country's peace had never been so directly threatened before during her reign.

He'd tried to shake off irritation as he'd gotten ready for the festival. It helped that it was the perfect autumn day, cool but sunny. The leaves had begun to turn, and though they had yet to fall, the trees had morphed from various shades of green to a combination of reds, yellows, and oranges. Oliver had dressed in a pair of casual jeans, tan suede shoes, and a red plain shirt, a more casual outfit for the crown prince, and made sure that the Selected were aware that they could dress down as well. Eadlyn had often said the Harvest Festival, which was televised, was one of the few events that allowed the country to see them as a normal family.

When he walked outside, the palace grounds had been transformed.

The usual corn maze had been set up, bigger than last year. Since the princes and princess were young, the maze had grown with them. In the beginning, it had been small and innocuous, a fun excursion for a chubby toddler to run around in. Now, it offered a confusing challenge to the older kids, with enough twists and turns to really get someone turned around.

There were food stations set up in different areas, all supplied by real farmers from around the country. He wasn't sure what the process was to become the nominee for the Harvest Festival, but only the best made it to the castle. They provided only the juiciest fruits, the plumpest livestock, the largest vegetables. Oliver also enjoyed talking with the farmers that accompanied their bounties. They were always so passionate and knowledgeable about their professions and usually quite humbled to be in the presence of the royals. It was endearing.

As usual, an enormous quarter of Clydesdale horses stamped impatiently from where they were harnessed to the wagon that was used for hay rides. Even for Oliver, who liked horses quite well, they were huge and a little intimidating.

There were what he figured were typical "carnival games" (not that he'd ever been to a real carnival) set up as well: an apple toss, pumpkin bowling, gourd golf, dart balloons. There was plenty to keep people entertained, which Oliver was thankful for since it meant he didn't have to worry about whether the Selected were bored.

The first girl that he spotted when he arrived was Presley. She was talking with one of the craft ladies who'd been brought to the palace. As Oliver approached, he heard the woman explaining to Presley that her jewelry was made of stones that could influence the wearer's mood. He could tell that Presley was trying to be polite, but her eyebrows were arched with skepticism.

"What, you don't believe in the healing power of rocks?" Oliver smirked when the lady had wandered away to talk with another browser.

Presley laughed. "Not quite," she admitted. She picked up a bracelet. "Pretty though."

"If you did believe, which would you pick?" Oliver asked as he scanned the stones. They were accompanied by little cards that explained the impact they were supposed to have on the wearer.

"Hmm." After a moment of consideration, she pointed at an orange colored bracelet. "'Citrine,'" she read. "'Raises self-esteem.'"

Oliver nodded, remembering how Presley had said she'd struggled with self-image when she was younger. "That's a good one," he noted, "I don't think you really need it anymore though."

Presley laughed. "Oh yeah? Which one should I get then?"

After a quick glance, Oliver pointed at a dark stone. "The agate," he decided, "It's called a 'warrior stone.' That seems like you."

She snorted. "Alright," she agreed, "Then I guess I'd pick the rose quartz for you. 'Love stone. Opens your heart to true love and friendship. Brings inner peace.'"

Oliver picked up the two bracelets. "Works for me," he decided as he slipped the pink bracelet on his own wrist. He handed some money to the seller, who seemed ecstatic to have made a customer of the prince, and secured Presley's bracelet around her wrist.

"I still don't think I believe that they actually do anything," she noted, ever the skeptic.

"Isn't mind over matter a thing in psychology?" Oliver asked. " _Believe._ "

She made a face. "I'll try," she relented, "Just for you. Let me know if I seem any more warrior-esque this week."

"Oh god," Oliver frowned. "Maybe I should've gotten you a peace one. If you become any more like a warrior, it's probably not going to be good for me."

"As long as you're on your best behavior, we'll be fine," declared Presley brightly. She clicked her bracelet against his and then left him to visit the fresh popcorn stand.

He noticed Isolde standing by the Clydesdales and headed over to join her. She was dressed more casually than he'd seen her yet, in a pair of jeans, a striped shirt, and an army green vest. A wavy blonde ponytail kept her hair back from her face, and he noticed a pair of diamond earrings that looked far too sparkly to be the fabricated jewels that the Selected usually wore.

"Nice bracelet," she smirked as her eyes settled on the pink accessory.

"It's opening my heart to true love and friendship," he explained. He stroked the velvety nose of the horse closest to him and added casually, "So, how have you been?"

Isolde smiled. "Much better," she declared, "I'm sorry about my behavior the night of the dinner cruise."

Oliver shrugged. "Everyone has off days."

"I seem to be having them too often lately," frowned Isolde. She tangled her fingers in the enormous Clydesdale's mane, seemingly intent on avoiding Oliver's gaze. "I don't think this is the best setting for me."

He sighed. "I know," he admitted, "I can see how hard it's been for you. But Isolde, if… you know, things work out the rest of our lives won't be like this. The Selection is an anomaly in all of our lives. Everything else would be… I don't know, easier. At the very least, different."

She didn't respond, and he reached out, pulling her hand from the horse. "Will you do something for me?"

"What?" she asked, although a smile was already tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Come do something fun with me," urged Oliver. "Let's get lost in the maze or bowl with pumpkins. Something."

"I have an idea," a voice pipped up.

They both turned to see Celine had joined them. "What did you have in mind?" Isolde asked. Oliver had noticed that of all the girls, she was one of the most generous with Celine. She always paid attention to her and entertained Celine's conversation or ideas.

"Let's try the three-legged race!" declared the princess as she pointed to the area that had been marked off for such an event. "We can grab Tristan and make him be my partner."

Isolde's smile faltered for a moment. "Oh, uh, let's not bother Tristan," she countered. Her eyes scanned the area somewhat frantically and she pointed to a table where Mae sitting by herself eating a caramel apple. "Look, Mae's not doing anything!" Before either Celine or Oliver could protest (not that they would have), she called out, "Mae! Come race with us!"

A few moments later, Isolde's leg was tied to Oliver's, while Celine and Mae were also secured together. "This feels like a disaster waiting to happen," Mae laughed as she and Celine limped to the starting line.

"Of course not," countered Oliver, his arm wrapped around Isolde's waist to keep them steadied. "Ready?" She didn't respond, and her eyes looked a little dazed, like she was focusing on something behind him. "Isolde?" Oliver asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

She jumped but turned her apologetic gaze to Oliver. "Yes," she nodded firmly, "Let's do this."

The butler manning the race gave a countdown, and at go, the four started bumbling towards the finish line. It was difficult, but he figured that fact that he and Isolde were of more similar heights than Mae and Celine gave them an advantage. Isolde was also surprisingly much faster than he'd expected, and he was glad to see that winning seemed to have an invigorative effect on her. As he untied their legs, she was beaming up at him with excitement, and when he pulled her in for a one armed, congratulatory hug, she actually squeezed back.

A bright light erupted in front of them, and they both smiled when Patricia lowered her camera. "That's a good one," declared Patricia with a bright grin as she examined the screen.

"It is."

They all jumped at the sound of Kile's voice. "Why are you hogging all of my favorites over here, Oliver?" Kile demanded as he placed a hand on Mae and Patricia's shoulders.

"Dad," Oliver laughed exasperatedly, "You can't have favorites."

Kile rolled his eyes. "Right, right. I "love you all equally", just like my children." He used air quotes to emphasize his point, and the girls all laughed at him while Celine and Oliver rolled their eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to be playing nice with the other kings?" demanded Oliver, "Or at least embarrassing your other son. Tristan's an easier target." Isolde's grip on his side tightened a little at the mention of his brother, and Oliver frowned. He'd always thought they seemed to get along well, but the way that Isolde had reacted to any mention of Tristan that day made him wonder if something had happened.

"Someone has to keep you in your place," shrugged Kile. "And I believe that playing nice with the other Royals is _your_ job today."

Oliver frowned. His dad had a point. "Fine, fine," he sighed, "Guess I can't spend all day surrounded by you lovely ladies." He gave them all an extravagant bow and then took stock of the grounds. Priority number one was avoiding Regan, who was doing pumpkin bowling with Nikolai, so he decided to head in the opposite direction to where the Swendish royals were playing balloon darts with the British prime minister. "Who's winning?" Oliver asked.

The Swendish Prince, Hugo, ducked his blonde head. "Clara has remarkable accuracy," he mumbled.

Prime Minister Hardwick held out a dart to Oliver. "Please, Your Highness," he offered as he gestured towards the balloons. "We need all the help we can get."

"They thought two against one was such a clever idea before," giggled Clara.

"I'm sure they'll think twice before underestimating you next time," noted Oliver. Princess Clara smiled under the praise.

Oliver was only slightly better than Hardwick or Hugo had been, and the three of them still lost to Clara. "Where did you find this woman, on a target range?" he demanded of Hugo when the four of them examined the board. Clara had scored a solid thirty more points than them.

Clara laughed. "I have seven brothers, Your Highness," she explained, "It would've been impossible for me to not pick up a thing or two."

"She is quite the catch," Hugo admitted as he grinned at his wife.

"How is your wife, Prime Minister?" Oliver asked, "Sophie, correct?"

The Prime Minister looked impressed that Oliver had remembered, which made Oliver feel slightly guilty as he'd had Anderson look up pertinent details that would help him curry favors with the visiting leaders the previous evening. "She's very well, thank you for asking, Your Highness," he nodded. "She'll be delighted to hear that you inquired."

"Of course," grinned Oliver, "Did she stay behind with the children?"

Hardwick nodded. "They're in school currently and have exams coming up."

"Are you excited to have some children running around the palace?" Clara asked Oliver excitedly. She was a few years older than Hugo, who was Tristan's age, and the pair had yet to produce an heir. Oliver had the feeling that Clara was looking forward to motherhood based on her excitement.

"Uh… I'm just trying to get through the Selection," Oliver admitted honestly. Although he knew that he would have kids, as was his duty as the future king, he'd never given them much thought. He liked children well enough, but the idea of having his own was terrifying. Without Anderson and Jonathan, he wasn't very confident that he'd be able to keep himself alive let alone small humans that depended on him for everything.

"The girls are great," grinned Hugo, "Clara keeps making plans for the future with them like you're going to marry all of them."

"They're all so sweet!" protested the Swendish princess, "I don't know how you'll ever be able to choose."

"Me neither," laughed Oliver, "Any advice?"

Hardwick laughed. "You'll know. When I met Sophie…" He exhaled deeply. "It was like the first time really seeing the world. Everything was brighter, clearer, just better."

"I know the feeling," Hugo smiled as he took his wife's hand.

Oliver frowned. While he knew he cared for many of the girls, it wasn't like his world had suddenly been put into high definition like Hardwick and Hugo had attested to. "Well, hopefully I turn out as lucky as you have with Clara," he offered, eager to turn the attention from himself. He excused himself a short time later and took momentary refuge at the apple cider booth.

As he sipped his drink, he glanced around and noticed that Lady Sara Kosma was present again. She wore a tight, off the shoulder sweater dress and a pair of over the knee boots and was seated at a nearby picnic table alone with her hands clutched around a glass of cider. Her eyes scanned the activity once more as she sat on the outskirts.

"Lady Sara," Oliver called, "May I join you?"

She looked shocked to be acknowledged by the prince. "Of course, Your Highness," she responded. Her accent wasn't Russian, which surprised Oliver. It sounded more similar to Neema or Mosi's.

Oliver settled himself beside her and smiled. "How are you enjoying Illéa?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

She smiled sadly, and he had a feeling that the obvious disdain that her position had brought her was beginning to wear on the young woman. "You have a beautiful country," she replied vaguely.

It was an improper conversation, but Oliver couldn't help himself and added, "Look, I'm sorry about… people."

There was a moment of silence where she regarded Oliver as though she wasn't sure what to make of him. "Thank you," she finally responded, "Not many would care."

"Does Nikolai?" he asked.

Sara's eyes smiled sadly. "He likes to pretend that certain things don't exist if he doesn't see them," she explained. "At first, it was his engagement. Then, once he was married, it was the disapproval that our relationship brought."

"Why stay?" Oliver asked. "You're a countess, you're beautiful, and he's…"

Oliver's opinion of Nikolai and confusion about her situation didn't seem to surprise Sara. "I worked in the palace before I was a countess," she recalled, somewhat wistful as though she missed the simpler time. "I was born in Sahara in a little village on the Mediterranean Sea, but my family fell into debt, so I was sold to a slaver."

Oliver's jaw dropped. He knew that some countries had issues with such situations, but to meet someone who had experienced such hardship firsthand unsettled him. "I don't know what to say," he admitted.

She shrugged. "I met Nikolai eight years ago," she remarked, "We were both younger and more naïve then."

"You've been together for eight years?" Oliver asked, disbelieving. He couldn't imagine anyone willingly putting up with Nikolai for eight years.

"He was the first person who _saw_ me in Russia," smiled Sara. "You may not understand it, but even with all of his faults and how difficult it is at times… I love him." She paused before she added, "I have a feeling it is the same way you once felt about the Grand Duchess."

Oliver almost choked on his cider. "Did Regan tell… I mean, do you know—"

"Oh, no," laughed Sara, "We are not close. I hold her no ill will, but Duchess Regan resents me. She tries to make things difficult for me," she gestured to her outfit, "She likes to make me 'look the part' and encourages some of the crueler gossip. But it's her I pity."

Oliver was surprised by Sara's generosity. "How could you pity someone who's so spiteful?" he frowned.

Sara's eyes settled on Regan across the lawn. "Another insult to her, I'm sure," sighed Sara, "but our rooms are adjacent. And I would never mention it to her or even Nikolai, but she cried herself to sleep every night for the first few months after she arrived in Russia." Her hazel eyes turned to Oliver. "I think you and I both know why, Your Highness."

"You don't get nearly enough credit," Oliver smiled wryly, "I would be incredibly intimidated if someone as perceptive as you were on the tsar's council, Lady Sara."

She laughed lightly. "You're too kind, Your Highness."

"I suspect you are too," Oliver shot back.

"Your Selected are very kind as well," Sara noted. "They've been the only people who've been able to look past my reputation."

Oliver shrugged. "Reputations can be misleading," he noted, "Look at mine."

"I am a little surprised by how different you are," admitted Sara. "Between the newspapers and what Nikolai said, I admit I was a little wary."

"And now?" Oliver asked.

It was Sara's time to laugh. "You remind me of a little puppy that I had back home in Sahara when I was a child," she declared, "Sweet and always happy."

"A puppy," Oliver groaned, "I'm going to have to up my bad boy status somehow."

"You may just break a few hearts in this Selection of yours," she noted. "They seem very fond of you."

That wasn't necessarily what he wanted to hear. "Got any advice?" he asked. Sara was easy to talk to, and Oliver could see why Nikolai liked her, especially compared to Regan, who tended to be judgmental.

She looked amused. "You realize you're asking a married man's mistress."

"I'm asking one of the kindest visiting noblewomen that I've ever met," corrected Oliver.

Her green eyes lit up, and after a moment, she smiled widely. "It is nice to be seen as something else when you've been told that you're one thing for so long." She turned her head from Oliver and swept over the grounds. "I think that it's important to listen to what your heart is telling you."

Oliver frowned. "I would if it was actually saying anything productive. Most of the time all I get is, 'help, I'm confused.'"

She shot him a knowing smile. "After the time that they've spent here, I think that you're beginning to realize your feelings towards some are stronger than others."

Once again, he was surprised by just how much she saw. "It doesn't make it easier," he sighed, "I don't want to miss out on anything because I didn't spread my attention around or something."

"You won't," Sara smiled simply, "There's a reason you're gravitating towards some girls. Trust that reason."

Trusting wasn't exactly at the top of the list of things that Oliver was good at, no matter if it was himself or others. "Guess that's something I'll have to work on," he admitted before he stood up. "Thank you, Lady Sara. And if you're ever in the area, please remember that you're always a welcome guest in Illéa." Sara thanked him, and Oliver decided to take a trip through the corn maze.

Before he headed into the corn maze, he decided to snag Kaitlyn and take her along with him. "We can't get seriously lost, can we?" she asked as she regarded the maze apprehensively.

"I don't think so," shrugged Oliver. "Why? Scared?"

"A little," she laughed, "But I'll trust you."

"Famous last words," teased Oliver but he took the lead and headed into the maze.

The maze was a bit of a miscalculation on Oliver's part.

Apparently, someone had concocted the clever idea that to make the maze more challenging for the adults, they would hide people in frightening outfits to randomly jump out and cruelly scare visitors. Oliver realized this far too late to repress the terrified scream that a knife wielding psycho in a mask managed to extract. He grabbed Kaitlyn's hand, and they raced away, which managed to thoroughly confuse Oliver about the way that they'd come from.

To his surprise, Kaitlyn paused to laugh. "You should've seen your face," she gasped between laughs.

Oliver glared. "Next time I'm offering you up as tribute instead of saving you," he declared.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be a prince in shining armor?" she countered.

"There's never been other people in here before," Oliver argued in his defense.

Kaitlyn chuckled and took his hand. "Come on, scaredy cat," she ordered, "We gotta get out of here before all of the snacks are gone. Dalila helped to make some awesome pumpkin bread that I'm not trying to miss out on."

Together, they battled their way through the maze. He accidentally attacked a chainsaw wielding zombie and caused the man to drop to his knees with a swift kick to the family jewels, and Kaitlyn voraciously shoved him back in the direction that they came once when he caused her to walk into a spider web. Finally, they realized that they were directionally challenged, and Oliver lifted her onto his shoulders so that she could peak over the hedge.

When they emerged, triumphant, they were immediately confronted by Kile. "You cheaters!" his father gasped. "Kaitlyn, how could you? I worked so hard on that."

Of course the addition of the freaky villains was his father's idea. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty!" laughed Kaitlyn. She discretely pointed to Oliver and mouthed, " _It was his idea._ "

"Wow, way to just hang me out to dry," snorted Oliver. "Come on, let's go get some of these churro pretzels you've been talking about for the last ten minutes."

It turned out the churro pretzels were worth it and reaffirmed Oliver's desire to keep Dalila around for the sway that she somehow held over the kitchen. He wasn't sure how she always managed to get her suggestions on the menu, but he wasn't mad about it. As he and Kaitlyn did some damage to the supply of pretzels, Princess Ryo joined them. "You Illéans seem to value your sweets," she noted.

Ryo was one of the few royals that Oliver was just never sure how to interact with. They were fundamentally different, with Ryo being very reserved and at times a little condescending. He also had a feeling that she had never forgiven Maxon's support of the separation of New Asia into the eastern and western portions, which had subtracted a lot of land from the country that Ryo was in line to inherit.

"How are you enjoying the Harvest Festival, Princess Ryo?" he asked.

"It's interesting," she noted. She picked up a churro pretzel and sniffed it cautiously before her nose wrinkled, and she crumpled it into a napkin. He saw Kaitlyn's eyes widen at the lost churro pretzel. "There's been much media coverage about your exploits, Prince Oliver," Ryo noted, "I was curious, do you still intend to inherit your country's throne?"

"Uh… yeah," confirmed Oliver, unsettled by the question.

"Even more interesting," Ryo declared. She smiled tightly at him before she nodded ever so slightly and walked away.

Kaitlyn let out a whistle. "Why do people always make it awkward when I'm with you?" she demanded. Oliver laughed as he realized that she'd been present for his uncomfortable exchanges with both Nikolai and Ryo now.

"Beats me," he shrugged. "Let's go find other people. Maybe there's safety in numbers."

Luckily, there was an announcement a short time later that Prince Tristan would be judging the pumpkin contest, and Oliver dragged everyone he could find to the stage where Tristan was examining pumpkins.

He'd never thought that Tristan would actually have to follow through with the contest that he'd announced on _The Report_ before the Selection had started, but he was glad that Tristan had been forced to. As Oliver hung in the crowd and watched Tristan pin a blue 'best in show' ribbon on an enormous, vibrant pumpkin and shake hands with the pumpkin's grower, Oliver could barely stifle his laughter. Raphael had joined him, a casual arm cast around the Selected closest to him, and he was the only one who laughed more loudly than Oliver. Tristan cast them both irritated looks that did nothing to deter neither Raphael nor Oliver.

He noticed Ebony was hanging around quite close to Raphael once again once the pumpkin excitement had passed, so Oliver invited her to join him at the apple toss in hopes to discourage any flirtation.

"Ebony," he began hesitantly after he nervously missed his first apple.

"Yes, Your Highness?" she smiled flirtatiously. Her apple sailed into the appropriate basket.

"I just wanted to tell you to be careful," he said. He made his second apple. "Raphael's my friend and all, but you know the rules and the consequences of, uh, straying during the Selection."

She faltered and missed her second apple. "Are you accusing me of anything?" she asked, a hard edge to her voice.

Oliver was surprised by her reaction. "What? No, it was just a warning," he explained, "I was just trying to help you out."

"I don't need your help," she declared as she threw her last apple forcefully. "I know the rules, Your Highness." She spun on her heel and stomped away, but Oliver had a feeling that her declaration had been fueled more than nervousness than actual irritation. He sighed. Hopefully Raphael took his seriously at least.

The rest of the afternoon was a little less stressful. He won a few games of pumpkin bowling – most notably against Prince Sebastian, who had bet Oliver a trip to one of the exotic islands off the coast of Iberia – and ate way too much delicious food. He square danced with Brynn to the folk music that Calavali and his orchestra had played, he had another three-legged race (this time with Adelaide against his brother and Elijah), and challenged his mother to a game of gourd golf (he lost).

The highlight of the night, in his opinion, was when he loaded all twenty-one of the Selected into the hay wagon and took up the reins himself. He was a little nervous that the Clydesdales were going to take off and kill them all, but the girls had been highly entertained by their royal chauffer and his terrible wagon driving. Eadlyn had been a little less amused by his attempt at grand theft equine, but she only rolled her eyes at her irresponsible son's antics.

All in all, it was a great day.

As he headed back to his room that night, Oliver passed by one of the smaller ball rooms and noticed that there was a surprising sound coming from inside. He realized it was music, surprising since it was late and he hadn't expected anyone to be out and about the castle after the long day. He nudged the door open the slightest bit and saw Cassandra was sitting alone in the center of the room, an oboe in her hands and a music stand in front of her.

It was the first time he'd ever made her play, and it was well worth the wait. Even without the support of an orchestra, the music was moving, and Cassandra played with so much passion that he was almost surprised to find this was the same girl who had been mostly quiet and nervous throughout the Selection. It was like he was seeing her for the first time, and it made him realize that someone as talented as Cassandra did not belong to be hidden away in the palace.

He hurried back out to the grounds where the remnants of the Harvest Festival were being put away. He was relieved to find that Calavali hadn't left yet, and the old man seemed confused when Oliver requested that he followed him back into the palace. "Just listen," Oliver urged him as they lurked outside the ballroom.

"It's beautiful," Calavali remarked.

Oliver chewed his lip. "Do you think you could help her out?"

Calavali considered the request. "If Lady Cassandra truly wanted to pursue music, I'm sure I could help in some way."

"Guess it's time to find out," Oliver chuckled before he pushed the door open a little more.

Cassandra remained in her own world, completely focused on her music, until Oliver was standing right in front of her. Her shock caused her to play the only sour note Oliver had heard since he'd begun eavesdropping, and her cheeks flushed. "Your Highness," she squeaked as she hopped off her chair and glanced around, "I'm so sorry if I'm not allowed to be here, the room just has such beautiful acoustics…"

"It's fine," Oliver assured her. She relaxed slightly. "You're really an amazing musician."

She smiled a little more confidently. "Thank you."

"It made me think, though," admitted Oliver. "I think that you want this," he nodded at her oboe, "more than any of this." His hand gestured to the ball room.

Cassandra looked apologetic. "I-I think so," she agreed, "I've tried, but all I've ever wanted is to be a musician."

Oliver nodded. Perhaps because he'd expected it, the goodbye didn't hurt too badly. "Well, are you ready to give up your library, then?" he asked, an edge of excitement in his voice.

Cassandra laughed as she sat down and began putting her oboe away. "It's not that easy," she began.

"It could be," argued Oliver, and he gestured Calavali over.

"Signor Calavali," squeaked Cassandra. "You didn't hear… I mean, you weren't listening…"

"I did," countered the conductor, "And the prince is very correct in his assertion that you're a wonderful musician."

"Thank you," she breathed, her mouth twitching into a smile.

"There aren't openings in the Royal Orchestra that you could audition for," the conductor explained gently, "but how would you feel about trying out for the provincial orchestra back in Labrador? Conveniently, they're holding auditions through the weekend."

Cassandra's jaw dropped, and she looked clammy. After a moment of thought, she broke into an enormous smile. "Yes!" she decided, "That would be amazing."

"I'll send word to the conductor to expect you," smiled Calavali before he bowed to both of them and took his leave.

"So I suppose that settles it all aside from goodbye," Oliver announced with a bittersweet smile. "We were immensely lucky to have you, Lady Cassandra. I have a feeling that you'll be back soon enough with Calavali."

"There are some really great girls here," Cassandra, "Friends that I'll have for life. And you're so much more than I originally thought. I'm glad to have gotten to meet our future king." Oliver extended his hand to her, but Cassandra surprised him with a hug before she curtsied and left the ball room.

And suddenly, he was down to twenty girls.

The morning after the Harvest Festival, Oliver greeted Laine in the entrance hall at what he considered a truly ungodly hour: four thirty AM. She looked tired but luckily hadn't overindulged on the warm, spiked drinks at the Harvest Festival like some of the other girls. He wasn't sure if it was because of him or the prospect of their plan for the day, but she looked excited, which he was glad about.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

Laine nodded, excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was dressed ready for activity like he'd instructed, in a pair of black pants, a pink tanktop, and a gray zip up jacket. He offered his hand, and she accepted it, allowing him to lead her outside.

The car ride was mostly quiet as they sipped on the coffee that Oliver had swiped from the kitchens and struggled to wake up. By the time they'd arrived at the airfield, the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. "Are you ready for this?" Oliver asked excitedly. It was something that he'd always wanted to try, and Laine's desire for adventure had made him think that she'd be a good person to share it with.

"Maybe I would be if I knew what we were doing," she laughed.

Oliver held out a paper. "Just fill this out, and then I'll tell you."

"'Liability waiver'?" Laine read from the top of the form.

"You wanted adventure," he reminded her.

"Adventure, not imminent death," she corrected. Despite her nervousness, she scribbled her name on the appropriate line.

When their instructor for the day approached them, Laine was practically bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet with anticipation. But when he said, "Are you ready to do some sky diving?" Oliver wondered if he'd made a miscalculation. Laine's eyes bulged, and she glanced from Oliver to the tiny plane that was awaiting them.

"What?!" she squealed. A moment later though, her face broke into an enormous grin, and she cheered, "This is so cool!"

Their instructors were named Ted and Arnold, and although he was a little wary about the idea of being strapped to a man as he jumped out of a plane, when Ted mentioned that he'd made about 12,000 jumps, Oliver immediately lost any of his qualms. There was an instructional class that lasted about forty-five minutes, and afterwards, Ted and Arnold gave them garish jumpsuits and goggles.

"What a great first date outfit," snorted Oliver as he examined himself in the mirror.

Laine did a twirl. "What do you mean?" she countered, "I feel _very_ attractive."

Oliver snorted, "You look a lot better than me."

"What a charmer, Your Highness," she giggled as they joined Ted and Arnold by the plane.

Oliver was about to board the rickety aircraft when he noticed Jonathan and another instructor had joined them. Jonathan looked ready for a jump as well, although his instructor looked a little wary about having the enormous guard strapped to him. "What, do you think someone's going to shoot me out of the sky at terminal velocity?" laughed Oliver. "Calm down, Jonathan. Grab a drink, put your feet up. How often do you get the chance to get rid of me?"

Jonathan shook his head staunchly. "Nope," he countered, "If something happens to you, and I wasn't falling through the sky beside you on this _crazy_ thing, it's my neck. So you're stuck with me."

Laine looked amused, and Oliver shrugged. "Works for me."

The six of them boarded the plane and were soon climbing into the sky. The first thing Oliver noticed was that it was a lot colder than he had anticipated as they ascended, which he mentioned to Laine. Over the roar of the plane, all she could do was shout, "What?!" back, and Oliver mouthed 'never mind'. He noticed Jonathan was tensely pulling at a cross around his neck.

"Ready?" Ted yelled from behind him, as they were already strapped together.

Oliver tried to ask if he meant right that moment, but it was unnecessary as Ted promptly pushed him out of the plane. He was glad that they'd gone first, because maybe it meant that Laine hadn't gotten the chance to hear him scream.

At some point, his screams of terror turned to delight, and he managed to take stock of his surroundings. It felt like they were being gently buoyed by the air, and he could see the landscape below them. "There's your palace," Ted yelled in his ear as he pointed to an enormous structure in the distance.

It ended more quickly than Oliver had suspected, and he felt a little discomfort as his harness pulled up on a particularly sensitive area of his anatomy. He was glad when Ted released him, and as soon as he'd settled himself back onto two feet, Laine launched herself at him, her skinny arms wrapping around his neck. "That was amazing!" she championed.

"It was," Oliver laughed in agreement. They both glanced over to where Jonathan had landed. "You good, man?"

Jonathan was bent over, hands on his knees, and he simply held up a hand to silence Oliver. The prince snorted, and he glanced around. "Want to go for a hike?" he asked Laine as he gestured to the wooded hills that surrounded the sky diving field. She nodded excitedly, and they shed their ugly jumpsuits and goggles before they started into the wilderness.

"I never thought I'd jump out of an airplane with the crown prince," noted Laine.

"So, what you're saying is that I've exceeded expectations," surmised Oliver.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely."

"What did you think I was like?" laughed Oliver as he picked over a steep collection of rocks and turned around to help pull her up.

"Oh, you know," Laine started jokingly, "Typical prince. I thought you lounged on your throne counting all of your money and being fed peeled grapes."

"Nah," Oliver disputed, "Only on full moons."

"Oh, good," nodded Laine, "I was looking forward to those days."

They made it to the top of the hill, and Oliver settled himself on an outcropping, offering a hand to help the much smaller Laine up. Below them was a small creek and an expansive valley. A deer stood at the edge of the creek, regarding them warily, and Laine cooed over how cute it was.

"What a morning," she sighed in a satisfied manner as she leaned back on the rock and turned her pale face up to the warm caress of the sun.

"Unfortunately, this won't be the scariest thing I do all day," grimaced Oliver.

"What could be more terrifying than jumping out of an airplane?" queried Laine with a laugh.

Oliver frowned. "An elimination."

The smile slipped from Laine's face. "Ah." She nervously tugged at her shoelace for a moment before she gathered the courage to ask, "Was this a goodbye treat?"

"It was a goodbye test," admitted Oliver, "but I don't want you to leave. I want to spend more time with you, have more adventures."

Laine let out a nervous breath and beamed. "I want that too."

"Good," smiled Oliver. He stood and hoped down from the rock before he helped Laine hop down and they began their descent.

Goodbye seemed to be the theme of the afternoon when they returned to the palace. Many of the royals were preparing to leave, and Oliver was once again required to be at his mother's side as they saw the visitors off. Everyone else, including the Selected and his siblings, were allowed to continue on with their usual activities, but Oliver was forced to stand next to Eadlyn through too many hugs and handshakes.

One group that he was not sorry to see go was the Russians. He made a point of hugging Sara—which caused his other, Regan, and Nikolai all to frown—and bowed stiffly to the duke and duchess that had become such staunch pains in the ass. "Safe travels," was all Eadlyn offered.

"Thank you, Your Grace," simpered Nikolai. "I am so sorry we were unable to hammer out the trade agreement, but don't worry, we'll be in touch."

"Of course." Eadlyn's smile was tight, and Oliver was pretty sure he noticed her roll her eyes once they'd turned to leave.

There were tears when the French departed, as always, and Oliver was sorry to see his uncle and cousins leave. They promised to be back for Christmas, as always, and Ahren wished Oliver luck with the Selection before they departed. Everly elected to stay behind, citing her place on the Selection council as her reasoning. "Besides, Christmas isn't too far away," she had claimed, a thought which truly made Oliver's stomach clench. He could only pray he had some kind of clarity about the Selection by the time Christmas rolled around.

Prince Tae invited Oliver and whoever his new bride was to East New Asia for the New Asian New Year celebration, something Oliver had always wanted to experience, and Prince Mosi imparted some advice that he'd learned from his similar Saharan experience of picking a wife. Oliver realized this was the first Harvest Selection where he'd felt like he'd really connected with the other members of nobility, and he found himself a little disappointed to see them leave.

When he finished with his mother, Anderson appeared at his side to inform him that the ladies he'd requested to see before dinner were waiting for him. They were in his study, and Oliver's stomach did an uncomfortable flip when they all smiled at him upon his arrival.

He decided not to take a seat behind his desk, which made it seem too businesslike and impersonal, and instead sat on the edge as he greeted Ladies Arabella, Esther, and Savannah. "I just wanted to let you all know that I think you're wonderful ladies," he began.

Esther, who he was probably closest with of the three, immediately bit her lip as she struggled to keep calm. Arabella and Savannah looked a little confused, so Oliver pressed on. "I really appreciate the time that you've all dedicated to the Selection, but I just don't think that we've really connected in the way that I'd hoped for," he explained. "But I wish you all the best."

Arabella and Savannah thanked him and took their leave, but Esther lingered for a moment longer. "I'm sorry," Oliver offered, frowning.

"I think you're wrong," she eventually frowned as she stood. "I think that we could've worked, but I don't know that you tried enough."

"That's part of the problem," sighed Oliver, "I don't want to have to try harder. This is the rest of my life."

Esther took a moment to mull over the words, and while she didn't look convinced, she bowed to him and left the room.

Oliver let out a long, stressed breath before he headed into his room and fell face first onto his couch. "Anderson," he called, his voice mumbled by the throw pillows.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Can you deliver the letters on my desk to Mae, Cameron, and Irina?" he requested. "We've got some big plans next weekend."

"Of course, sire."

It was time to really dive headfirst into the Selection and begin to pin down his Elite.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Hello, everyone! As always, I wanted to thank you for the support. A couple of things I wanted to mention: 1. I know it's exciting to see your characters develop relationships, but this story will continue to be plot driven and about Oliver and his feelings, not how fair I as an author am trying to be by giving everyone screen time. I hope to see that respected as we get closer to the end. It sucks when I see complaints about how often someone else's character shows up, because everyone has worked so hard on them and has a place in this story. 2. Thanks for all the input on the poll! Mae is leading, so everyone who loves her will get to see more of her next chapter. 3. I've had many people ask me about a sequel. I love Oliver and would love to continue his story. How would you feel about a sequel focusing on his son's Selection, with alternating POV chapters with Oliver that also show his reign? Let me know!

* * *

The numbers were in, and Oliver flipped through the magazines as he frowned at the girl's rankings.

There were some that didn't surprise him – like Kaitlyn being the overall favorite – but he was taken aback by some of the other girls that the public had ranked among those that they thought would make a good queen, like Samantha, who was so young, or Xylie, who sometimes seemed secretive.

It exhausted him to see that so many people had such strong opinions about his life. His brain actually hurt after a few articles, and he shoved the magazines away as he dropped his head in his hands. Between the dates that he'd been working on and the general stress of being the prince, he just wanted _something_ to be easy. He wanted the public to love the girls that he was developing deeper feelings for, not throw new curve balls at him.

Not that he even had much time to sit and fixate on this current dilemma. As he reserved more of his time for dates to try to find a queen, the rest of Oliver's time was starting to become eaten up by work. He was stretched so thin that he'd fallen asleep in the bath tub the previous night while reading a finance statement that he'd promptly dropped into the water and had to have reprinted.

He didn't have much time to mull over the current rankings either, as he was expected at the marina for something he'd been working on shortly. It was one of the most important projects that he'd taken on as prince, and his stomach was a flurry of nerves as he sorted all of the necessary documentation for the proposal.

As he started to leave the palace, he decided to make a quick pit stop by the Women's Room. He didn't request entrance and instead asked one of the butlers to see if a particular girl was present.

Margaery smiled widely at him when she slipped out of the room, and the sight of her helped to calm Oliver's anxiety. "Hi," she greeted him. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk much since their conversation with Neema before the Harvest Festival, but it seemed like they were back to a better place, although they were both still a little tentative.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" he asked. "It's not a fun date or anything, but—"

Margaery cut him off with a decisive, "Yes."

He exhaled in relief as she reached for his hand. Even without notice, she looked ready for anything that might be required of a princess. Her long hair was pulled into a partial updo, and she was dressed in a dove gray off the shoulder dress patterned with roses that fell to her knees. Without planning, she perfectly complimented Oliver's mint green dress shirt and gray pants, and it reminded him of the way that his parents always looked like they'd coordinated without outright matching.

When they slid into the car, Margaery asked, "So, where are we going?" and the question sent Oliver into a bit of a tail spin.

"Oh, you know," he quipped, "Just to the most important meeting of my life." His hands clutched the folder that held the plans so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Margaery took notice and gently eased the file from his grasp.

He tensed as she glanced down at it like she might read it, but she simply set the dossier on her lap and folded her hands over it. Oliver tugged at his collar. "Is it hot in here?"

"Calm down," laughed Margaery, "Whatever the meeting is, you'll do fine."

"It's kind of big," he admitted.

Her laugh always reminded him a little bit of a bell, a tinkling sort of noise, and at the moment, he realized that he also found it relaxing, a sound that he liked to hear. "If you want to talk about it, I'm all ears," she shrugged simply.

In that moment, Oliver realized it was probably a good thing he hadn't been entrusted with any classified information, because he spilled his guts. He explained (most likely in a barely comprehensible rush) the way he'd been working on developing further armed forces for Illéa. He'd started with the navy, since there were oceans on either side of the country, and they were currently in route to examine a potential location for the naval base with General Gauge. The young general had been enthused by the idea and highly involved with helping Oliver get it to a point that he could present it to his mother.

Margaery's face was unreadable as he explained, which made Oliver a little nervous. "Do you think it sounds crazy?" he frowned.

"No," she insisted, "I mean, it's a little worrying to hear from the prince that we're beefing up our military."

"It's just a precaution," insisted Oliver, "The Harvest Festival kind of made me realize that Illéa doesn't exactly excel in that area."

"Did something happen at the Harvest Festival that made you think about this?" she asked, "I thought it went pretty well."

He hesitated and considered telling her about Nikolai. But when he realized he'd have to explain how Regan gave him the heads up and probably _why_ she did it in order for everything to make sense, he decided this was perhaps a secret he wouldn't be able to share with any of the Selected. "He just seems inflammatory," he muttered as he turned to the weekend.

Although she didn't look convinced by his explanation, Margaery didn't press the matter. "Even if it is just a precaution, I think it's a great thing for the future king to be involved with," she smiled. "It's a good way to show people that you really are concerned with the country."

He hoped it came off that way and not like he was some warmonger. The car slowed when they reached the harbor, where a ferry awaited them. Oliver was all nerves as the boat pushed off from the dock, and he hadn't realized that he'd been cracking his knuckles almost obsessively until Margaery took his hands in hers. The sight of her smaller, delicate hands gripping his larger ones almost protectively made Oliver chuckle. "We've missed you in the Women's Room lately," she commented.

He was instantly distracted. "I know," he frowned, "There's been a lot between this and the Harvest Festival." She nodded as she focused her gaze on their interlocked hands.

"And eliminations." Margaery's blue eyes looked a little sad.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I don't think the Elite are far off."

"But you're excited about that, right?" she asked as she turned an encouraging smile on him. "You should be, Ol. This is _your_ life."

"I think I am," he admitted, "It's just kind of hard. Even if I don't feel romantic things towards everyone, I care about everyone that's here. It sucks to have to say goodbye so often, especially knowing that I might not see them again for a long time. My future wife might not like the idea of a bunch of ex-girlfriends coming to visit. Which I guess I get."

To his surprise, Margaery laughed. "We get along a lot better than you might suspect," she informed him. "I don't remember the last time Irina and Xylie weren't whispering in a corner of the Women's Room, and I think Patricia, Adelaide, and Rosalie have sleepovers at least twice a week."

Oliver smiled. It was good to hear that the girls were close. It might be an unrealistic hope, but he liked the idea of a future that his Selected fit into, even if they were in roles that they hadn't initially anticipated when they'd entered the competition to be queen. "What about you?" he asked. "Who are your partners in crime?"

She let go of his right hand and held up her left wrist. He hadn't noticed before, but a delicate triangular amethyst hung from a gold bracelet. It had a little 'm' engraved in the gold plating that it dangled from. "Kaitlyn found them at one of the booths at the Harvest Festival and realized they look like a pizza if you put them together," she explained, obviously amused, "She dug through the container until she found one for me, Mae, Isolde, and Presley. Well, and Pawnds, but we try to forget that a cat has the same friendship charm as the rest of us."

Oliver smiled as he toyed with the bracelet for a moment longer. "That's nice. And very Kaitlyn."

"They're great," smiled Margaery. "This whole thing would be worth it just because I got to meet them if you had turned out to be a dud or something."

He snorted. "Great. So reassuring that you thought I was going to be a dud."

The ferry began to deaccelerate, and soon, Jonathan informed them that they'd arrived. Oliver took a deep breath, took his folder from Margaery, and led the group ashore to where Gauge and a small group of officers were awaiting him. "Your Highness. Gauge greeted him with a bow and then gestured to the group with him. "My best planners and engineers. All sworn to secrecy, of course."

Oliver nodded at the men and glanced around the island. "So, this is Pacifica?" he asked.

Gauge nodded. "Great placement. Close enough to shore in case of an emergency event but with more than enough space for a headquarters and training programs." One of the men, who specialized in geography, Oliver was told, began to lead them around as he explained the island's abundance of resources.

To Oliver's surprise, Margaery looked interested in the potential development and kept up with the group while he hung back with Gauge. "What kind of financial burden do you think the start-up would have?" asked Oliver.

Gauge's eyes narrowed as he thought about it. "Building the bases are easy and quick. Maybe a couple hundred million. It's the ships that are the trouble."

"I've looked at what Russia has," Oliver remarked. "To get that kind of equipment would cost around $2 billion a ship. Britannia currently supplies most of the world's naval needs, and commissioning one takes about three years."

"We should aim for five," Gauge declared. "Total cost would be about $2.8 billion before you start recruiting and commissioning officers."

"What if I don't want what Russia has?" Oliver asked as he frowned and studied the ocean. He hoped he was just being paranoid, but it scared him that Russia was just on the other side of that ocean. "What if I want something better?"

"Then that requires research," Gauge explained, "A whole new industry."

"Which would be good for the country," noted Oliver as he pulled a sheet of paper from his folder. "I've crunched the numbers for that, and I think we can get that, at least, started this year."

Gauge stopped walking, his eyebrows jutting upwards as he scanned the paper. "Your Highness, this is admirable, but to just create an entire industry is impossible."

"No, it's not."

They both frozen, obviously unaware that Margaery had been keeping tabs on their conversation. She blushed, as though she hadn't intended to betray her eavesdropping, but she continued on nonetheless. "My father's company centers on weapon's development," she reminded him. When neither Oliver nor Gauge showed any further understanding, she shrugged. "Aren't warships just huge weapons?"

And then it clicked, and Oliver got so excited that he accidentally the papers in his hand. "Do you think your dad would be interested in the project?" he asked.

Margaery frowned. "Maybe not," she admitted, "But he's been training my older brother to take over for him, and Xander's been a little concerned by the lack of opportunity for expansion, so I _know_ he'd be interested."

Oliver forced himself to not start bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "If you called him as soon as we returned to the palace, do you think he would be able to come meet with me?" Margaery nodded confidently.

Gauge looked impressed. "If you could actually meet with someone in the field and started planning, we could potentially start base construction by the end of next year," he mused. "With a lot of hard work, you could have this running in the next five years." Oliver was about throw his arms up in triumph when Gauge added, "Granted the Queen approves."

The triumphant feeling crawled back into Oliver's chest and died. If his mother hadn't worked on military expansion in the past twenty-five years of her reign, he wasn't sure she'd be interested in starting now. The money that it would cost was also a complication. He'd just started to worry when Margaery put her hand on his arm and determinedly declared, "It's a great plan. She'll go for it," and he found himself a little encouraged.

When they returned to the palace and he brought Margaery to his study to place the call to her brother, he started bending and pulling his fingers again, looking for that calming cracking noise. He pretended to be calm as he paced the room, but he had to resist the urge to order Margaery to put the call on speaker several times so he could hear exactly what was being said. He didn't even relax when she grinned broadly, not until she hung up and declared, "He can be here next week."

Oliver gave a clap of triumph and swept forward, pulling a startled Margaery into his arms and swinging her in a circle as he hugged her. "We're doing this," he grinned, feeling dazed as he held her close. He stared down into her smiling face, and a tight feeling constricted his chest. "I couldn't have done this without you," he admitted as he trailed a hand up the length of her arm to just under her jaw, "It would've been just a good idea that I had once. You're like a political mastermind."

She laughed. "Stop it," she countered, "This was all you. I just made a call." She seemed emboldened by the feel of his hands on her, and she shivered as she stepped even closer.

But a call had never meant more to him, and he showed his appreciation the best way (in his opinion), as his fingers finally stopped just under her jaw and gently lifted it so that his warm mouth could find hers. Maybe it was the success of the day or the encouraging feel of Margaery's hands in his hair, but Oliver felt like he'd just swallowed twenty shots of espresso. The initial tenderness soon disappeared, replaced by an enthusiasm that Margaery shocked Oliver by returning.

They were both disheveled—chests heaving, hair mused, and faces a little pink—when Tristan opened the door. Margaery quickly jumped about a foot away from Oliver, and although Tristan rolled his eyes, he didn't move to give them any privacy. "What?" Oliver demanded, a little annoyed.

His irritation quickly disappeared when Tristan's stony faced announcement came: "Taco Tuesday is ready."

Margaery looked confused by Oliver's excitement and Tristan's annoyance until he led them both to the dining room where everyone else was already waiting. Per Oliver's requests, it had been transformed. There were vibrant tablecloths, brightly patterned cups and plates, and flamenco music playing. Some of the girls looked confused by the different cooking stations that had been set up (including his mother), but others like Dalila, Cameron, and inexplicably his father looked excited.

"Hey, everyone," beamed Oliver. "Welcome to Taco Tuesday."

"Taco Tuesday?" Eadlyn repeated. "Oliver, where is dinner? And, oh, you know, our tables?"

"Not today, Mom," he beamed. "Today, we've all got little cooking stations and we're going to be making tacos. We're going to have groups, and you can use basically whatever. But whoever has the best tacos at the end of the night wins."

And then, of course, Xylie asked, "What do we win?"

And Oliver floundered as he realized he hadn't come up with a prize. He glanced around the dining hall and realized he couldn't find anything to give away, so he used himself as a fall back. "An exciting date," he declared vaguely. It did the trick though, as the girls' faces lit up.

They were separated up into six groups of four each—one group of five, if you counted Pawnds, who'd slunk into the dining room to beg for scraps—and got down to business. Oliver's group consisted of Cameron, Samantha, and Brynn in addition to himself. "Fair warning, I'm a terrible cook," Oliver informed them cheerfully.

Brynn laughed beside him and accidentally knocked over the tray of utensils that they'd been given. It clattered to the floor with an obnoxious bang, and everyone else turned to look at them. "Great," snorted Samantha, "So we've got two handicaps."

But Cameron didn't look deterred. Her face lit up as Oliver guessed a light bulb went off in her head. "We'll do dessert tacos," she explained in a whisper so that none of the nearby teams could hear. "Everyone loves dessert, and it doesn't seem like anyone else is doing that."

Oliver liked the idea and offered to help her go get the necessary supplies. "So, how'd you get into cooking?" Oliver asked as Cameron loaded up his arms with different bowls, bags, and cans.

Cameron's face lit up in one of the most genuine smiles he'd seen from her yet. "Our maid back home, Vera, got me into it," she explained. "We're pretty close, so it's just something we've always done together."

"Good life skill," he noted, "If something ever happened, and I had to feed myself, I'd probably be dead in like a week."

Cameron snorted. "Well, after tonight, you'll at least know how to make dessert tacos." She stacked one more ingredient into his overflowing arms, and they returned to the rest of their team.

Surprisingly, Cameron was a great teacher. She showed him how to dice the fruit they were using without losing any fingers, instructed Samantha's shell frying so expertly that not a single one turned out burnt, and even managed to stop Brynn's clumsiness from causing any major disasters by keeping her on chocolate dipping duty. While keeping the rest of the team together, she expertly whipped up a homemade cream filling for the tacos, and when they were all put together, Oliver had to keep himself from sneaking one from the pile.

What he was most surprised about when all of the food was compiled was how many dishes didn't look totally awful. Although the group of Kaitlyn, Tristan, Isolde, and Celine had done pretty poorly and decided to just make rice and beans, he didn't mind, since he was suddenly daunted by the idea of a meal filled exclusively with tacos.

The range of tacos was actually pretty impressive. There were spicy fish tacos, roasted vegetable and black bean tacos, buffalo chicken tacos, and a weird, lettuce shell, healthy taco that his mother's team had made, in addition to Oliver's team's dessert. They all loaded up their plates, and the taste test commenced.

Of the regular tacos, Dalila's team's blackened mahi-mahi variety with a chipotle mayonnaise dressing were hands down the best. He was glad that no one had failed too terribly at their cooking endeavor, as even the rice and beans had turned out edible. In the end though, Cameron was right: everyone did love dessert, and their tacos were a hit.

"Great job," he congratulated his team when they'd officially been declared the winners (even by an impressed Dalila).

Cameron flushed with pride. Winning certainly had a good effect on her attitude, and she cheerfully asked, "So, what kind of date are we getting?"

Oliver cursed himself for not thinking of a better prize. His schedule was already a little full between his new meeting with Xander Seymour and a date with Mae that weekend that he'd be planning for a while (as well as a date with Irina that he'd been putting off), but he figured they'd won fair and square. "I'll get back to you," he offered, "I've got a lot coming up."

The excited look on Cameron's face faded. "Of course," she muttered.

Oliver was about to ask what that meant when there was a loud noise from across the room. Ebony had dropped her plate of tacos, one hand clapped over her mouth as she read a letter that had just been delivered by a butler. Xylie, who was standing next to her, put a concerned hand on Ebony's arm, but it seemed to jolt the brunette back to life, and she promptly stood and rushed to the door.

He realized it might not be the best look to run after one of the girls while everyone else could see, but Oliver couldn't help it. He quickly excused himself from his group and jogged after Ebony.

She wasn't hard to track down, as she'd broken down into sobs after she'd left the dining hall. "Hey," Oliver frowned as he caught up to her, "What's wrong?"

If she was giving him any explanation, it was incomprehensible between her gasps for air and the tears, so Oliver enveloped her in an embrace that he hoped was comforting. "Hey," he said as he gently smoothed a hand over her long, dark hair. "Ebony, what's going on?"

It took her a moment to calm down enough to speak, and even once the sobs had stopped, she still had to pause to take a few shuddering breaths. "I-It's my mom," she admitted as she glanced down at the letter once more. "She's sick, and it's expensive. We were hoping that the round of chemotherapy that she'd just finished would be enough, but It's not, so her doctor suggested more radiation, and it's just-it's so expensive, and even with what I've been sending home…" The tears welled in her eyes and slowly rolled.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, trying to make herself laugh the moment off. "You probably think this is so stupid."

Oliver shook his head and gently squeezed her hand. "It's not, at all," he countered, "My mom is my best friend. I don't know what I would do if she ever got sick."

She nodded slowly as the tears renewed. "She's my best friend too, and we just don't really know what to do," she explained. "It feels so hopeless."

Ebony wasn't someone that Oliver had necessarily found himself naturally attracted to. She was always a bit mysterious, a little too flirty (especially in the case of Raphael), but to see her so utterly destroyed about something that she couldn't do anything about made him feel terrible. It made him wonder how much he didn't really know about the girls, the things that they'd been dealing with even while they were staying at the palace, and the things that were awaiting them once they left.

"I wish I could do something," he sighed.

Ebony turned a small smile on him. "The money has been helping. Sorry I kind of poured all of this on you."

"Is there… is there any government assistance that she could apply for to help her with treatment?" Oliver asked.

Ebony made a face. "It's kind of… complicated," she admitted.

Oliver sat down on one of the nearby window alcoves in the hallway and beckoned her to his side. Ebony joined him, the folded letter still clutched tightly in her hands. "How?" he asked. "I want to make things better for people. I can't eradicate cancer or anything, but as kind I can help people who are struggling to pay for it."

"We've already applied for all of the government assistance available," Ebony explained. "It got us through her first round, and my checks from the Selection have really helped a ton. But it gets us just the bare minimum care. And it's frustrating, because if we could afford better doctors, she might have a better chance."

Without missing a beat, Oliver declared, "So I'll send our palace doctor. Dr. Solorzano did a lot of research on cancers before he came to the palace."

Ebony's eyebrows knit together. "What?"

Oliver shrugged. "He's the best doctor in the country."

"You would do that for me?" she asked.

"You guys are important to me," Oliver told her. "You've given me all sorts of chances and have given up so much to be here. I mean, look at you. You could be at home with your family during this, but here you are. That means a lot to me, Ebony."

She nodded slowly as though it made sense. "Thank you," she smiled, the tears finally receding, "So much."

"Just answer one question for me in return," bargained Oliver.

"Okay."

"Are you actually interested in Raphael?" he asked. It was a situation that had been on his radar as a cause for concern since his Italian friend had arrived at the palace.

To his surprise, Ebony laughed. "Not really," she admitted, "He's…"

"A lot," Oliver offered.

She nodded her agreement. "More than even you," she chuckled, an assessment that Oliver agreed with. "But really, I think I just started to panic. It feels like there are girls that have a better shot than me, and I figured if you couldn't help me help my family…"

"Raphael could," concluded Oliver. Although he thought that it was a risky move, he could understand it. "Don't count yourself out just yet," he decided. "Knowing about your mom, if I didn't think there was a reason for you to be here, I would've sent you home so that you could be with her."

Her eyes lit up, like a fire had been reignited in them. "Alright," she agreed, her smile warm.

"Do you want to go back to dinner?" he asked with a nod back in the direction of the dining hall. "Or… I don't know, we could take a walk through the gardens or something, if you needed a minute to calm down."

Although she didn't look disinterested in his latter suggestion, Ebony eventually shook her head. "I think I'm going to head to my room, if that's all right," she decided. "I want to write my family and tell them about the doctor."

"Of course," nodded Oliver.

He sat in the alcove a little bit longer after Ebony had left him, and it was during this time that Elijah and Everly happened upon him. "Hey," he greeted them as the two squeezed onto the small little window seat with him. "God, Elijah, did those tacos go straight to your ass? You're crushing my legs."

His friend rolled his eyes. "What's going on, Princess? Everything okay?"

"Yeah," nodded Oliver, "Just bad news from home."

Everly noded. "I thought there was something that was bothering her," she admitted. "Some of the girls think she's just here for the money."

"I'd be very surprised if that wasn't a motivation for a lot of people," Oliver noted with a dry laugh.

"How'd your big secret mission go today?" Elijah asked, a note of irritation in his voice. He'd walked in on Oliver's planning several times that week and had been put out when Oliver had hastily gathered all of the papers to keep out of Elijah's reach. He had a feeling if Elijah found out, it wouldn't be long before Everly, Tristan, or Raphael knew as well, and that wasn't something he was ready for yet.

"Good, Lord Humbitter," smirked Oliver. Everly laughed at the joke, but Elijah shot him a rude hand signal.

"So, what's this 'important news' Tata Eady is going to talk about on _The Report_ this week?" Everly asked. Whether it was to diffuse the hostility or the result of genuine curiosity, Oliver wasn't sure, but he was distracted.

"She's announcing something?" he asked, feeling a little concerned. What if she'd found out about his planning with Gauge and was pissed? Was that something she'd call him out over in front of the whole country?

Everly shrugged. "Dad said something about it on the phone earlier but didn't give many details." Oliver admitted that he wasn't sure, but his stomach erupted into a flurry of nerves. He didn't think that his mom would be mad that he was making plans for the country—he hoped not, since he was going to be king, after all—but she would certainly not appreciate the underhanded, sneaky way that he was going about it, and he had a feeling it was something he was going to worry about all week.

As he sat under the hot stage lights that Friday for _The Report_ , he felt like an instrument whose strings had been wound just one turn too tightly and were waiting to burst. He noticed his mom furtively glance in his direction a few times, and every time she did, he almost jumped out of his skin.

When his dad had casually asked why General Gauge had come to stay at the palace for a few days, Oliver had loudly and very conspicuously replied, "Gauge is here? Like General Gauge or the man that comes to check the levels on the pool water—I think he gauges it, you know—oh, no clue though. Why? Did General Gauge say why he was here to Mom?" Kile had simply raised a suspicious eyebrow and backed away from his rambling son.

He noticed more than a few of the girls send him worried looks and figured that his nervousness must be obvious—or they'd grown to know him well enough that they could just _tell_ , which was also a frightening prospect.

Although he was shocked, he didn't protest when Tristan slipped into the seat beside him and pressed a glass of scotch into his hand. "You okay?" his brother asked as he tugged at his sleeves. Eadlyn was continuing in her trend of instructing Tristan to dress down on _The Report_ —as if being attractive was enough to make people want Oliver as their sovereign—and Tristan was trying to roll his sleeves up on his ghastly orange button up to make the outfit more bearable.

Oliver hesitated before he admitted, "I might be developing something pretty big that Mom has no clue about that the public could have very mixed feelings about."

It seemed that a lifetime of putting up with Oliver had prepared Tristan for things like this, and his younger brother didn't even bat an eye. "Oh, good," he nodded, "Glad that's all."

He wasn't sure if it was the scotch or his newfound confidence in Tristan, but Oliver relaxed just as the lights on the studio came to life. Coen was all smiles and waves as always as he welcomed the country and thanked them for tuning into his broadcast. "We've had a very exciting week here at the palace!" Coen declared, which caused Oliver's muscles to tense for a minute before he reminded himself there was no way Coen could know about the navy.

"First," Coen declared, "As you all know, we are coming up on a very exciting anniversary here at the palace."

The studio erupted into applause, and Oliver frowned. Why did Coen have to be so vague? He had no idea what anniversary he was forgetting, since he was pretty sure his parents had gotten married in March, and it was only October.

Coen turned to Eadlyn. "Your Majesty," he greeted her, "Now, I know that we are still a little ahead of the anniversary of your coronation in November, but I hear there's some exciting news that you're ready to share with us tonight."

Eadlyn turned her most dazzling smile on the camera. It was the one that always helped her prevail when Kile as mad at her or that she used to guilt Oliver into princely duties that he tried to shirk. "In celebration of my silver jubilee this year, I will be taking a tour of each of the provinces of our beautiful country in the next two weeks," she explained, "It will certainly be a whirlwind of a tour, as it's difficult to take much time away from the palace and my job as your queen, but I am confident that my son will do a wonderful job in my stead while I am away."

The studio clapped politely, and Oliver felt a bit stunned. Eadlyn had never just _left_ him before. Sure, she'd gone abroad, but he'd never been given any actual power. And then it hit him that he'd be able to meet with Gauge and Xander Seymour without having to sneak around under his mother's nose and he exhaled deeply.

He was so stuck in his own mind that he barely noticed when Coen turned the microphone over to the Selected. "Lady Isolde," he began, "Since we're on the topic of the queen's silver jubilee, what do you think of our lovely ruler?"

"Queen Eadlyn is an inspiration," smiled Isolde, and he knew her well enough to know this wasn't something she was fabricating, like she occasionally did when Coen asked her about Oliver. "Not only is a strong ruler, but being here for the Selection, I think we've gotten to see a really unique side to her, the person behind the crown, and it's only made me prouder to be her subject." Some of the girls nodded in agreement, and Oliver beamed as his mom. She was pretty awesome.

"Are you excited for the upcoming silver jubilee celebrations, Lady Samantha?" Coen asked as he turned to her next.

"Oh, of course," giggled Samantha. "I think we're all excited any time there's an event going on here. We've barely stopped talking about the Harvest Festival since then."

"So you think you'll still be with us when the silver jubilee arrives?" Coen concluded, making Samantha blush.

"I certainly hope so," she answered, "But thanks for making me worry now, Coen!"

The studio chuckled, and Coen turned to Oliver. "What do you think, Your Highness? Will all of our lovely Selected still be with us when the celebrations commence?"

Oliver wanted to throw his shoe at Coen. "November is sometime away," he pointed out, "A lot could happen by then."

"Indeed," nodded Coen. He seemed to catch on to the irritation in Oliver's face, for when he directed the microphone towards Dalila next, he was innocently asking about Taco Tuesday.

Once _The Report_ had ended, Oliver hung back to talk with his mom. "I didn't know you were leaving," he noted as he removed his crown and casually spun it around his wrist.

Eadlyn laughed. "I sent you a memo," she pointed out, "You must not have noticed between all of your dates and clandestine meetings with General Gauge."

Oliver felt like his stomach had dropped all the way to his toes, and his face drained of every ounce of blood. "I don't know—"

His mother rolled her eyes. "Oh, Oliver, please. I've spent the last twenty years with you, I think I know most of your secrets."

God. He sorely hoped not.

"But I also trust you," she noted, "Just don't get into too much trouble and don't make any announcements without consulting me."

He nodded. "I promise."

"Good," smiled Eadlyn, and she kissed him on the cheek, which Oliver tried to squirm out of since the Selected were still present. Eadlyn laughed at his behavior. "Have a nice break from your embarrassing mom. Don't burn the palace down."

"Very funny," Oliver scoffed at her teasing with a roll of his eyes. He noticed Mae had broken away from the group of Selected and was talking to Tristan, so he promised his mom he'd see her before she left and headed over to them.

"Are you trying to steal one of my girls, Tristan?" Oliver quipped as he approached them.

They both laughed a little too loudly in response, which Oliver found a little suspicious but decided not to mention. "What's up?" Mae smiled at him.

"I actually came to talk to you," he explained with a pointed look at his brother. Tristan offered a mumbled goodbye and left the two of them alone. "So, what are you doing this weekend?" grinned Oliver as he pulled Mae into his arms. The rest of the Selected had left, and there were only a few housekeepers around cleaning up the set, so he indulged his need to be closer to her.

Mae snorted as she wrapped her arms around Oliver's neck lightly. "I might be hanging around the palace. You know, the crazy life of a Selected."

"How do you feel about airplanes?" Oliver asked.

"You're not going to make me jump out of one like you did Laine, right?" she asked nervously as she stiffened in his arms a bit.

Oliver laughed. "No, I think I got that out of my system."

"Whew," Mae exhaled, "Alright then. I'm up for whatever you've got planned."

"Great," beamed Oliver. "Saturday morning, eight AM sharp. You and me."

"Do I get any hints about what we're doing?" Mae asked.

Olive laughed as he rubbed his hands up and down her sides. He was tempted to tell her about it, as he was immensely proud of the date that he'd planned, but he decided that the surprise would be worth the wait. "You're going to love it," he assured her. "It's going to be fun." And the more Oliver thought about it, the more excited he was to take Mae and abscond from the palace.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** Hello beautiful readers! This is probably the fastest I've ever updated, so I'm a little proud of myself. Lots of being things learned this chapter, so enjoy :)

* * *

"Why are you so fidgety today?" Mae asked in amusement. Their black town car slowed as they approached the small, private airport where the royal aircrafts were stored.

"Just excited," Oliver shrugged. He tried to jump out of the car to open Mae's door, but his plan was foiled as Jonathan prevented him from exiting the car so while his security team swept the airstrip and plane. "Jonathan!" hissed Oliver, "You're ruining my gentlemanly display of chivalry!"

Mae laughed beside him. "You realize I can open the door myself, right?"

"What's the point of _years_ of etiquette training when I can't even use it?" Oliver demanded as he ignored her and pushed at his door handle again.

Although Mae looked amused, when Jonathan finally gave the okay and released Oliver from his side of the car, she suddenly became overly interested in the clasp of her watch, giving Oliver just enough time to rush to her door. "Oh, wow, thank you so much, Your Highness," she gasped mockingly as she took the hand that Oliver extended to her, "I don't know how my dainty lady arms ever could have tackled such a feat."

"Couldn't you just let me have the moment?" groaned Oliver.

Mae winked playfully at him. "I let you open the door, didn't I?"

He supposed it was fair, and he led them up the stairs of one of the royal family's jets. "Ever been on a plane before the Selection?" Oliver asked. The jet was one of Oliver's favorites and featured a small bedroom with a full bathroom, a mahogany table and high backed chairs, a television, and a full bar. There was also a section with more traditional plane seating, where his security detail would be for the duration of the flight

"A few times," Mae answered vaguely, "None as nice as this though." One of the attendants offered them a bottle of champagne, which Oliver accepted. Mae raised an eyebrow. "You know it's nine in the morning, right?"

Oliver frowned down at the bottle before he called out, "Hey, can I get some orange juice with this?" Mae laughed, but when he handed her the mimosa, she clinked the glass against his and tossed the drink back.

"You're supposed to sip them, you heathen," he chided her with a chuckle.

"Pour a bigger glass, and there'll actually be something to sip," she shot back before she refilled her glass with a larger ratio of champagne to orange juice.

Oliver repressed a smirk. "Are you afraid of flying?" he asked.

Mae rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she countered airily. The plane jerked as they began to pick up speed, and she reached out to grip his arm, her nails digging into it a little. Oliver winced but put an arm around her in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "I'm just not overly fond of the take offs and landings," Mae admitted as she clung to him.

Oliver snorted. "You don't say." She was so preoccupied by her fear that she didn't even have a smart retort for him.

Only when they'd reached cruising altitude did Mae relax slightly. "Sorry," laughed Oliver, "I thought you weren't afraid of flying."

"Not _afraid_ —"

"Oh, my mistake," he teased, "'Not fond' of flying." Although she had calmed down, she didn't move to put any space between them, which Oliver's body was highly aware of. The side that she was pressed against felt like it was crackling with electricity, and he tried to remember what casual lounging felt like, but she could probably feel the tension in the arm that was wrapped around her.

If she did, Mae didn't draw attention to it, other than a teasing gleam in her eyes. "I used to think I was charming before the Selection," mumbled Oliver as he took a sip of his mimosa.

Mae laughed. "Don't let it go to your head, but you are."

"Sometimes, being around you guys…" _You in particular_ , he thought, "Is a little nerve-racking."

After a moment of thought, Mae replied, "Do you remember how relaxed you were the night you caught me watching _Dirty Dancing_?"

"Well, yeah, because that movie is _ridiculous_ ," snorted Oliver. Thinking of that night also reminded him of his first kiss with Mae, which did little to relax him.

"And now we're in your giant private jet going who knows where," shrugged Mae, "Not much more ridiculous than a rom com. So relax and just have some fun with me."

Although Mae had always made him feel the most nervous of all the girls, he was oddly comforted by her reassurance. "Okay," he agreed, "Want to play a game or something?" He stood and started digging through the box that his mom had stocked with entertainment for long flights when they were younger. "Ooh, how do you feel about Scrabble?"

Mae agreed, and as Oliver set the game up, she casually asked, "So, where are we off to?"

"Hah," smirked Oliver, "I told you it was a surprise, didn't I?"

Mae rolled her eyes as she pulled her tiles from the bag. "What about a hint? We could be going _anywhere_."

"We're going to one of my favorite places," was all Oliver responded with vaguely as he focused on his own letters.

"Not fair," sighed Mae. "I don't know what any of your favorite places are."

"Few people do," noted Oliver. "What about you?" he added, "If we were going to one of your favorite places, where would we be going?"

Mae considered the question through Oliver's turn, and it was only when he'd finished counting his points that she declared, "Home. I miss Yukon more than I thought I would."

"Tell me about home," Oliver requested.

A small frown tugged at her mouth before Mae averted her eyes to the game board. "Later," she countered, "I think you're trying to throw off my game."

Scrabble and breakfast occupied their flight, and around ten thirty they landed. Mae looked excited to finally discover where they were going, and Oliver laughed aloud at her obvious disappointment when they exited onto a nondescript, black tarmac. "We're not there yet," he offered as he gestured to the black car that awaited them.

In response to her frustration at being kept in the dark, Mae didn't entertain Oliver's gentlemanly aspirations and slid into the car on her own. "Are we still in Illéa?" she asked as they started off down a mostly deserted road.

"Yes," confirmed Oliver.

"Are we further south than Angeles?" she guessed.

"Yes," Oliver repeated. She opened her mouth in what he assumed would be another attempt to gain a clue about where they were going, and Oliver added, "And this interview is over." She groaned loudly and turned to watch the scenery outside the window.

The silence only lasted for a few minutes before Mae remarked, "We're on the coast."

"What gave that away?" Oliver asked in amusement, "The palm trees, or—I don't know—the ocean?" She stuck her tongue out at him.

Luckily, it was only a short ride so Mae's impatience couldn't grow too much. She hopped out of the car before him, seeming delighted. "I love the beach!" she beamed, "I've never been to one this beautiful."

"Not many people have," admitted Oliver, "This beach is reserved for the royal family's private use."

"Spoiled," she teased.

Oliver shrugged. "It's kind of impossible for us to go places," he explained, "unless they're private. It's hard for security reasons, and then we end up meeting people for hours, and before we know it, we haven't even gotten to take our sandals off, let alone go in the ocean… so yeah, private beach. They use it for marine research when we're not here. But come on, we're not quite there yet."

One of the wealthy members of Eadlyn's council owned a yacht that he loaned to the royal family whenever they liked, and the massive watercraft was moored off shore waiting for them. Mae didn't seem overly surprised by the luxurious boat, which made Oliver wonder if she'd came from a wealthy family. Embarrassingly, he realized he didn't know much about her background before the Selection.

While Mae headed below deck to change into her bathing suit, Oliver simply pulled his t-shirt off and dropped it into a pile on the mahogany floor before he sought out the captain and the woman that Phineas had put him in contact with from a wildlife conservation in Paloma. They both seemed excited to meet them, and the captain explained that his young daughter loved Oliver before asking for a picture, which he found amusing.

When he headed back upstairs, Mae had changed and was relaxed on a white couch on deck. Admittedly, his eyes did sweep over her lithe, tan body on display in a bright green, strapless two-piece, but it was the wide smile that brightened her face as she stared out over the ocean that caused Oliver's own grin.

"So, how are your swimming skills?" he asked as he joined her. "Maybe should've checked before I took a girl from one of the northern most provinces to the ocean."

She laughed. "I'm actually pretty good. I've managed to leave Yukon's frigidness once or twice." She glanced around before she held something out to him. "Oh, here by the way." It was the shirt that he'd discarded on the ground, which she had folded into a compact square shape.

It was a silly thing to feel any particular way about, but Oliver's stomach did a funny wiggle as he took the shirt from Mae. It was such a casual gesture, a normal thing that a regular girlfriend might do for her absentminded boyfriend, and Oliver had to swallow a strange emotion away.

"Do you need sunscreen?" he asked, trying to shake the weird feeling. "I don't usually burn, but if you do…"

It was probably a pointless offer, as Mae was darker than he was, and he wasn't surprised when she declined. "So, are we just cruising around?" she asked as she stood and leaned over the railing to stare down at the water.

Oliver nodded. "Yeah, I thought we could do some snorkeling, and there's another surprise that might—"

"Oh my god!"

He wasn't surprised by her outburst, as he he'd known that they were nearing their final destination. "Did you see that?" she demanded as she excitedly leaned further over the railing. Oliver was tempted to reach out and steady her so that she didn't topple into the water, but there wasn't exactly a safe area to grab her considering her current state of dress so he resisted.

He peaked over the railing and exhaled in relief when he saw the pod of dolphins that had joined their boat. He'd done a tiring amount of consultations with the marine biologist downstairs in order to figure out when the best chance for them to encounter the dolphins would be after Mae had mentioned that they were her favorite animal, and he was glad that his work had paid off.

He heard the door of the deck open and nudged Mae when they were joined by the woman, Amal. Oliver introduced the two before Amal noted, "So, Prince Oliver said you might like to swim with some dolphins."

Mae had seemed excited before, but this new development caused her jaw to actually drop. "Really?" she squeaked as she looked from Amal to Oliver, who nodded in confirmation. Mae threw arms around Oliver's neck as she repeated, "Oh my gosh!" about a million times in shock.

He tried to keep Mae calm while Amal gave them some basic do's and don'ts for while they were in the water with the dolphins. Once Amal mentioned that they worked with the pod in question regularly and they should be friendly as they were used to human interaction though, it was a lost cause, and they decided it was time dive in.

They'd stayed fairly close to the shore, where the dolphins liked to frolic in the shallower areas, and the pod was excitedly splashing around the yacht. Amal slid from the boat to the water first, and at her signal, Oliver hopped in, followed by Mae. The water wasn't too deep, only about twenty-feet, and was crystal clear so that they could still see the sandy bottom.

Almost as soon as Mae splashed in, a particularly brave dolphin sidled up to her. "That's Tucker," Amal explained, "He's one of the younger members."

"Hi Tucker!" Mae greeted him, her smile enormous. She didn't reach out to touch him until the dolphin had touched her cheek with his nose, as Amal had instructed them, and she looked over the moon when he squeaked at her after she gently patted his side.

"You've never looked that happy to see me," Oliver pointed out accusingly.

"Oh, stop," countered Mae, too happy for the usual witty banter.

Oliver was surprised when one of the dolphins broke off to join him. His dolphin was a little bigger than Tucker, which made him a little nervous, especially when it opened its mouth in what was questionably a smile. Although Amal insisted the gesture was friendly, Oliver frowned at the rows of sharp teeth. "That's Boo," Amal noted.

"Why do you call her Boo?" Oliver wondered as the dolphin dipped into the water.

Amal smiled knowingly, and a moment later, Boo reappeared much closer to Oliver and splashed him. "She plays peek a boo," she replied simply.

The dolphins didn't seem to be wary of Oliver, Mae, or even their enormous boat. In addition to greeting their new company, they also swam calmly through the blue water, and Oliver was surprised by how majestic they seemed underwater.

"Tucker might let you swim with him," Amal told Mae after about twenty minutes. "He seems to like you."

"Wait!" Oliver ordered. He swam back to the yacht and pulled himself up enough to grab the water proof camera that he'd purchased expressly for the trip. "Okay," he declared as he settled back into the water. "Proceed."

Mae rolled her eyes fondly at him, but he didn't mind as he could only imagine how excited she'd be when she looked at the pictures later. Amal showed her where to grip Tucker's dorsal fin, and a moment later, the little dolphin sped off into the water with Mae in tow. Oliver could hear her shrill laughter over the splashing, and he snapped away on the camera.

"Would you like to try?" Amal asked.

Oliver eyed Boo nervously. The dolphins had seemed more intent on playing tricks with him than Mae, as several had pulled at his swim trunks or chuckled little seashells at him. As if to profess her innocence, Boo rolled onto her back and floated by. "I guess…" Oliver decided.

When Mae returned, Oliver handed her the camera and swam up to the dolphin that Amal had decided to pair him with. It was bigger than Tucker—which made sense, since he was bigger than Mae, but the size of the creature unsettled him a bit—and he was preoccupied by his apprehension to listen completely to what Amal was saying.

When he first took the dolphin's fin, nothing happened. He glanced around at Mae, who was still grinning from ear to ear, and Amal, who didn't look too concerned. He was about to ask if there was some way to prompt the dolphin to go when suddenly, Boo shot off into the ocean like a rocket.

All Oliver could think as they sped along was that he was going to die. He was aware that he was yelling—if only because of the saltwater that he kept swallowing—and he had a feeling it sounded nowhere near as delighted as Mae's giggles. It felt like a joke had been played on him, as instead of following the straight path that Tucker had taken Mae on, Oliver's dolphin decided to do a few dizzying donuts before it deposited him back near the yacht.

Mae was nearly in tears when Oliver swam back over to her. "Oh, please," scoffed Oliver, "It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, definitely not," Mae assured mockingly him as she wrapped her arms around him. Amal turned towards the dolphin closest to her, as if to give the couple a moment of privacy. Or as private as it could be with Tucker staring him down like a disapproving father.

"Thank you," she smiled up at him. "This has been the most incredible experience ever."

"Including the Selection?" asked Oliver as he pulled her closer. Floating in deeper water presented an interesting situation in which he found himself eye level with Mae instead of being taller than her as usual.

After a moment of contemplation, Mae declared, "Yes," which Oliver was a little offended by. She must have noticed the scowl that formed on his face, and she clarified, "It's nice to have some time with you without anyone else. To just be Mae and Oliver instead of one of seventeen Selected and the crown prince."

His frown disappeared. "I like that too," he agreed, and before he could make a move, she took advantage of their new equal height and kissed him.

It was the first time Oliver had not initiated a kiss, and he was certainly not disappointed. Mae kissed him softly at first, but as their lips found a rhythm with each other, more passion flamed their actions. He could smell the faint linger of her sweet shampoo, taste the ocean salt on her lips, feel the way that their bodies fit together perfectly, almost like puzzle pieces. Despite the cool water, he was certain his body was on fire.

But then one of them forgot that they were supposed to be treading water and they dipped under the water. The magical spell of the kiss broke as they both inhaled an uncomfortable amount of salt water. They came up laughing and sputtering. "So, you're terrible at multitasking," noted Oliver.

"Me?" gasped Mae, "I was carrying us there."

Oliver shook his head. "I don't think so."

Mae rolled her eyes and headed back towards the dolphin pod. "I'm just going to hang out with my new boyfriend, Tucker, over here," she teased. He rolled his eyes but swam after her.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the water. The dolphins loitered for almost an hour, which even Amal was impressed by, but Oliver had to have a conversation with Tucker about his intentions towards Mae when the dolphin gave her one too many kisses. After their porpoise friends disappeared into deeper water, they geared up with snorkel equipment and perused the corals and colorful fish that inhabited them. Oliver had his own dorky moment when a sea turtle swam up to them, and he swallowed another mouth full of water as he excitedly yelled to show Mae.

When they finally boarded the yacht for good, they were both a little sunburnt to their surprise and exhausted from their hours in the water, and neither could do much except for smile and cling to the other. Oliver's excitement was renewed when he noticed the dinner set up that he'd requested had come to life on the beach, and he practically flew into his light blue button up and beige shorts so that he could get to shore to check it out.

While the beach had been bare a few hours ago, a large, open air wooden structure had been concocted at Oliver's request. A platform, covered by aforementioned pillows and blankets, hung close to the ground, creating a gentle rock. There were lanterns hanging from the wooden beams as well, and a fire had been lit in the sand in front of the structure.

He settled himself on the pillows, kicked his shoes off, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows before he tried to look casual while he waited. A short while later, she arrived on shore.

He realized in that moment that he would never see her and not be stunned by her beauty. Even more covered up than she'd been earlier, dressed in a patterned blue skirt that dusted the sand and a white cropped shirt, she was breathtaking. Her long, dark hair had been released from the bun that had constrained it on their dolphin adventure, and it hung in loose, damp waves around her arms, the left side tucked behind her ear with the help of a white flower. He didn't think she was wearing makeup, and he could tell that the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks had been a little burnt by the sun as well, but it just made her look more youthful and innocent.

"This is incredible," she declared as she gestured at the set up.

He patted the seat beside him, and she cuddled into his side as they rested against the pillow mountain, gently swinging, and watched the sky transform into a flurry of pinks, purples, oranges, and reds as the sun began its journey towards the horizon.

A bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket of ice beside them, but for once, Oliver didn't feel the need to reach for it. There were no nerves to calm, no anger to pacify, no fears, no concerns, no irritations—nothing. He felt perfectly at ease, his arm wrapped around Mae's shoulders, their heads rested together. They allowed rhythm of the ocean and the instrumental island music he'd picked fill the air for a long moment.

Oliver had always loved watching the sunset over the ocean, but it didn't hold his attention as it usually did. Instead, he turned to glance at Mae and noticed she was focused on him as well, their hazel and green eyes locking together. "Tell me something," Oliver requested.

Any hesitation that she'd harbored on the plane when he'd asked about her past had disappeared. "What do you want to know?" she asked.

"Everything," he admitted with a laugh. "But I'll settle for the basics. Tell me about your parents."

"They'd love you," Mae smiled, though her eyes looked sad. "They both died in a car accident when I was sixteen."

He didn't know what to say. He'd always been close with his parents, admittedly a little more so with his mother than his father, but he knew that they'd both be there for him no matter what. Mae didn't have that, and it made him hug her a little tighter. "What were they like?" he asked.

She squeezed him back, as though the feeling of him beside her gave her the strength to revisit the memories. "They were the best," she smiled, "My father was French, and he loved to cook, always yelling out some French curse word when he burned himself or dropped something." She laughed, and it sounded a little watery. "And my mom was so playful and always happy, saw the best in everyone. She was my best friend."

There was a pause before she added, "What I remember most is how much they loved each other. Even though I lost them both, it almost seems kinder, because I don't know how they would've lived without each other."

Oliver didn't know what to say. He'd never been particularly good with words, and he'd also never met someone who'd lost so much. He knew that he was extremely fortunate compared to some people, but it hurt him to imagine the pain that Mae must've experienced.

"Any siblings?" he asked. It might've been the wrong move, but he wanted to know anything she'd share.

She shook her head. "Just the three of us. I always wanted brothers or sisters though."

Oliver snorted. "Well, you are welcome to mine any day," he declared. "They can be pains." One of the servers who'd helped prepared dinner approached them and informed Oliver that their food was ready.

The woman started to slip away once Oliver had thanked her, but Mae called out, "Wait a sec." She turned to dig in the bag that they'd brought from the yacht and explained, "Would you be able to take a picture for us in front of the sunset?"

The woman looked confused, and Oliver realized that she probably didn't speak English, a more common occurrence in Illéa's southern provinces. "Uh," he blushed as he lowered his voice and translated, "Se puede tomar una foto?"

The woman nodded enthusiastically, and they took their place against the magnificent backdrop of the sunset. Oliver put a hand around her waist, and Mae angled towards Oliver as she placed a hand on Oliver's chest and smiled brilliantly. After the flash exploded, they both thanked the woman, Oliver translating once more. "I didn't know you spoke any other languages," she remarked as they sat back down for dinner.

As Oliver created a massive burrito from his fajitas, he shrugged. "Yeah, a few."

Mae laughed. "A few?"

"Uh, yeah," nodded Oliver as he took a bite. He chewed for a moment before he added, "Uh, like six?"

Mae choked on the spoonful of rice she'd scooped up. " _Six_? Why haven't I ever heard about that?"

"It's not something that I advertise," laughed Oliver.

"Why not?" she demanded. "That's really interesting, Oliver. Which languages?"

He blushed. "Well, English," he began.

"Luckily," quipped Mae, her eyes twinkling. "Sorry, go on."

"French and Italian fluently. German, Spanish, and Arabic pretty well. I've tried to learn Finnish but haven't practiced much since Hugo and Clara speak English fluently," he explained.

Mae's mouth hung open. "Oliver!" she scolded him, punching him in the arm. "Why do you act like such an airheaded playboy? That's really cool."

The discomfiture that he always felt when praised for his skill in the area flooded him. "I don't want someone else to translate for me when I'm king," he explained hastily.

Mae's brow furrowed as she studied him for a moment. "Are you… embarrassed…?"

Oliver shoved the rest of his burrito in his mouth and chewed as he thought back to when his tutor realized he could carry a conversation in three different languages when he was nine. Eadlyn only stopped bragging about it when Oliver threatened to discontinue his skills. "When I was, I don't know, eight or something like that," he began, "We were in an Italian lesson. Tristan is terrible with languages, and I was learning my third." He frowned at the memory and rolled his eyes. "He called me a dweeb."

To his surprise, Mae laughed. "Oliver, you call Tristan a dweeb all the time," she pointed out.

"It was the first time I realized Tristan doesn't look up to me," he frowned, "It sucked."

She frowned and gave his hand a squeeze. "I bet Tristan looks up to you more than you know."

His relationship with Tristan had always been complex, and it wasn't something he was interested in delving into after such a good day. "Hey," he said in a change of subject when he noticed a mark of black on Mae's foot. He pushed her skirt aside and realized that it was a tattoo in the shape of a feather. "I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Oh," she laughed as she stretched it out to show him, "Yeah. It's an owl feather."

"Any particular meaning?" he asked as he traced the little feather.

She smiled. "There was a poem that I always really loved: "Let me be as a feather, strong with purpose. Yet light at heart, able to bend. And tho I might become frayed, able to pull myself together again.""

It seemed the perfect tattoo for her, especially considering what she'd shared about her background. "I think I'd like a tattoo," he mused.

Mae laughed. "What would you get?"

"I'd have to think about it," he shrugged, "Would you come with me to get it?"

Mae forced a smile. "If I'm still around."

It was a valid point. They were together now, but a short plane trip away in Angeles, sixteen other girls waited for Oliver. They were real, and their relationships with him were both real and impacted what he had with others. Oliver frowned but pulled Mae close to him to force himself to focus on the moment. They relaxed on the pillows, her back against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, and stared into the fire.

"Tell me something that scares you," requested Mae.

"I don't know if it scares me," frowned Oliver, "but I hate being made a fool of."

"Is that why you were so upset about Evelyn's article?"

"Yeah," mumbled Oliver. "Your turn."

"Hmm…" She crossed her arms over his so that they were thoroughly entangled with each other. "Losing people."

It made him think of how the Selection encouraged the formation of relationships that couldn't necessarily be maintained. "Must make this hard," he noted.

"I'm trying not to let it," quipped Mae.

"What's something that makes you happy?" continued Oliver.

" _The Alchemist_ by Paulo Coelho," she answered, "It's the best book ever. I have the saddest, most bedraggled copy that my dad got me when I was little, all dog-eared and underlined, but it's my most cherished possession."

"You really miss them, don't you?" frowned Oliver.

"Can't imagine the day that I won't," confirmed Mae, "I used to visit their graves almost every day. That's one of the things that's made the Selection hardest."

Not sure of what to say again, he was quiet for a moment until he realized that while he couldn't do anything to ease the pain of Mae's loss, he could help her with not being able to visit their graves. "So, why don't we take a detour on the way back to Angeles?"

Instead of being excited as he'd anticipated, Mae laughed. "Oliver, Yukon is not exactly on the way back."

"I have some sway with the pilot," he pointed out, "And if he refuses, I know how to fly a plane."

Mae looked up at him, her head rested against his shoulder. "You'd do that for me?"

"I mean, I've stolen planes before, shouldn't be—"

Her hand guided his mouth to hers, and Oliver smiled against her soft, warm lips. She moved to pull away, probably to ensure that his offer was legit, but Oliver decided the kiss wasn't over. They shifted, both refusing to break contact, so that he could pull her into his lap. Sparks of electricity danced as their hands roamed over each other's bodies in exploration, gently rounding curves, tangling in hair. It was only when his lungs rebelled did Oliver lean back slightly, and Mae rested her forehead against hers. "Why do I get the feeling that we're getting ourselves into trouble?" she whispered.

Oliver had a feeling she wasn't talking about the possibility of their commandeering the plane, but he was agreement. "Probably because we are." And he kissed her again.

They only stopped when the moon was high overhead, and the embers of the fires had died down. "We should get back to the plane," Mae whispered.

Oliver cuddled her closer. "No," he countered, "Just stay here with me tonight." She expressed her agreement by hugging him tighter, and under the inky Paloma sky, the pair drifted off to sleep to the sound of the waves.

It turned out Oliver didn't have to steal the plane the following morning, as the compliant pilot easily set course for Yukon. When they landed, the early morning grass was iced with frost, and Oliver could see his breath when he exhaled. "Wow, you miss this?" he chattered as he rubbed his hands together. They'd changed back into the warm clothes they'd left in Angeles in, but even in early October, Yukon was cold.

Mae smiled and wrapped her arms around him, like her tiny frame could keep him warm. "Poor little Ollie."

"What can I say," he chuckled, "Angeles born and bred." He stole a glance at her. "Would you want to trade your winter wonderland for Angeles? I think our low temperature in the winter is like 50 degrees."

Mae considered the question. "I do love snow at Christmas time," she acknowledged, "but I'd give it up for you."

Oliver tried to repress his beaming grin.

The cemetery was on top of a hill, enclosed by a black iron fence. Mae led him through the rows of headstones to a small plot towards the back of the cemetery where they stopped in front of glossy marker that read, "Laurent and Cali Villeneuve, beloved parents."

It was much different from the extravagant, elaborate mausoleum where the royal family was interred. Mae bent to sweep the old, dying flowers from the base and replaced them with the new bouquet they'd stopped for on the way. She kneeled, her hand touching the stone as if it were something that she could draw strength from, and Oliver stood silently behind her. He wasn't sure what to do but hoped that just being there was enough.

When she stood, there were tears in her eyes, though she didn't look necessarily sad. "Thank you," she breathed, "This means more to me than anything."

He took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, and they made their way from the cemetery together. "Show me your life," he requested.

"Do we have time?" Mae asked as she quirked an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "If I say so we do."

"The perks of being a prince," laughed Mae. But she led him towards town, and soon, Oliver found himself inside her favorite book store. It a huge shop with two levels of overflowing shelves but was cozy and warm, filled with second hand classics, and the owner found himself overjoyed to have the prince and a lady of the Selection in his store. He raced around showing Mae the new works they'd gotten in and continually asking Oliver if there was something he could get for him.

As the owner gave Oliver a tour, Mae wandered away to grab a book that she'd been recommending to Isolde but hadn't been able to find in the palace libraries. Although Oliver tried to listen to the man, his eyes followed Mae as she meandered through the stacks. After all the time they'd spent together in the last day, he noticed he felt more subdued when he was away from her, like things had taken on a gray tinge.

But when he noticed a man tap Mae's arm and hold his arms out for a hug that she obliged, the gray turned red.

"Excuse me," Oliver muttered to the shop keeper. He descended the stairs to the first level two at a time. As he approached the pair, he could tell that she was uncomfortable as the man chattered on about how excited he was to see her.

"Who's this, Mae?" Oliver asked with a forced tone of cheerfulness as he aligned his face into an even expression and put a territorial arm around her waist.

The man's face drained of color as he took in Oliver. "O-Oh," he stammered, "So, you, uh, haven't left the Selection?"

Mae shook her head. "Uh, Oliver, this is Harrison Zenner," she explained, "Governor Zenner's son."

Oliver nodded slowly. He'd met Governor Zenner, of course, but never his son. "And how do you know each other?" he asked as he glanced between the pair. God, it was completely his luck to meet one of Mae's ex-boyfriends on his first trip to her province.

But neither answered, as they both stammered incoherently. Oliver's eyebrows furrowed as he waited for someone to explain. "Mae?" he asked as he glanced down at her, "How'd you met the Zenners? You never mentioned being involved with politics."

Mae's face looked pain as she focused on the floor. "I'm not," she admitted weakly.

"How do you know each other?" Oliver repeated, this time turning his hard gaze to Harrison Zenner, who wilted under the prince's scowl.

And then his jealousy got the best of him, and though he hated himself for it, Oliver ordered, "As your Prince, I command _someone_ to answer me."

Mae's green eyes looked heartbroken as she raised them to meet his fierce gaze. "Harrison was one of my clients," she announced, "He hired me to go to events with him."

At first, Oliver didn't understand. He stared at Mae, his face creased in confusion, before the impact of her words settled on him. "We're leaving," he declared, " _Now_. Zenner, I suggest you don't mention this to _anyone._ "

"Of course, Your Highness," the man agreed before he scurried away.

This time, he didn't take Mae's hand as they walked through the streets of Yukon. Despite the cold, his anger kept him hot on the return to the plane. He knew people were looking at him through their windows and pausing to whisper on the streets because the prince was in their province, but he kept his glare locked ahead of him. Jonathan kept everyone at bay, and Oliver tried to look neutral.

The mask of calm was maintained until the moment they stepped on the plane, and then, he whirled on Mae.

"You're a _prostitute_?" he spat.

Her expression turned from guilty to outraged. "Of course not!" she countered. "How could you even think that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Oliver sneered sarcastically, "Maybe because you just told me that a governor's son hired you!"

"As a date," emphasized Mae, "That's _all_."

"And that's supposed to make it better?!" shouted Oliver. "I'm supposed to be _comforted_ by the fact that people could only buy so much from you?"

Her cheeks were flushed with anger, but she exhaled deeply. "Oliver, please calm down and let me explain—"

"There's nothing to explain!" he countered, "You kept this from me! If my mother knew, you wouldn't have even been _in_ the Selection! But you lied, and I was almost stupid enough to fall—" He cut himself off and rubbed a hand over his eyes. His head was pounding, overcome by the anger and shock.

"I told you how much I hated being made a fool of, and you still didn't tell me," he pointed out accusingly.

"Can you blame me for being nervous?" Mae demanded, "Look at your reaction! I'm not happy about my past, Oliver, but I did what I had to. I had no family, no work experience, no money. A woman told me that I could make a living just by being myself and promised me I wouldn't have to sleep with anyone, so I didn't see what the harm was. I never dreamed that I would ever end up in the Selection and it would become an issue."

"So what was the Selection?" he snorted, "Your biggest job yet? Moving up from the sons of province officials to the son of the monarch? All the other working girls must've been jealous."

"I was not a prostitute!" Mae retorted, her struggle to maintain tranquility finally failing. "Why can you—"

"How am I supposed to feel, Mae?" Oliver roared. "I've shared more with you than anyone here, and I didn't even know who you really are. Do you know what this even means for us? What am I supposed to do if past clients start talking to the press? There's no way that the country, that my mother, the _queen_ , will let me end up with a-a—"

He cut himself off, but the damage was already done. "With a what?" Mae challenged, the insult evident in her beautiful face.

Oliver didn't answer. He knew it was too good to be true. Her beauty, her intelligence, the way that she made him feel—it was her job. She charmed men for a living. He was no different. "I could've fallen in love with you," Oliver frowned, feeling nauseous, "But you knew that. You knew how to make that happen."

His quiet tone seemed to have more of an effect on her than his yelling, and she sounded panicked when she replied. "Oliver, you have to believe me, everything that I feel for you is real."

He turned away from her, unwilling to let her see how betrayed he felt. "How can I believe anything you say when I don't even know you?"

There was a heavy moment of silence before Mae declared, "You _do_ know me. This job doesn't define me anymore than being prince defines you. There's so much more to both of us than that. I've never judged you for your past, Oliver, and I won't give any explanations or justifications for mine, to you or anyone."

"But being prince is part of who I am," countered Oliver, "It's not something I can shake off. And neither is this."

He couldn't argue anymore, couldn't be around her. His brain was cruelly reminding him of how he'd felt on the beach with her last night, how he'd opened up to her. He slammed his first against the wall of the plane just beside the door, which he knew Jonathan was waiting outside of. When Jonathan appeared, Oliver ordered, "Tell the pilot to set course for Angeles immediately." Then, he strode towards the small bedroom of the plane and slammed the door. He threw himself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, hoping to find some kind of answers in the mottled pattern of the ceiling.

When the plane landed, Oliver didn't move to leave, and no one came to collect him. He laid on the bed for what felt like an eternity. He was exhausted, like he'd poured all of his energy into his fight with Mae and had nothing left to keep him going.

But he couldn't hide forever, so he finally sought out Jonathan. "Bring the car around."

Jonathan folded his newspaper up and looked uncomfortable. "Uh, I would, Your Highness," he began, "But Lady Mae took the car."

Despite all of his anger, Oliver laughed. They got into a fight, and Mae stole his car. He wasn't exactly shocked. He fell to the couch beside Jonathan. Although Jonathan had been Oliver's head of security for five years and Oliver thought they were friends, he realized he didn't know much about Jonathan's past either. "What did you do before you worked for me?" he asked. He noticed a crease form between Jonathan's eyebrows, and he corrected, "With me. Whatever."

To his surprise, Jonathan laughed. "It's not that," he shrugged, "I do work for you. I haven't thought about the past in a while."

"Not the best?" Oliver asked as he stared at the pink bracelet that Presley had picked out for him. The irony that the bracelet was supposed to open him up to love wasn't lost on him given the current situation.

"We all have some things in our past that we're not proud of," Jonathan decided.

"So I'm realizing," sighed Oliver bitterly.

"You know I spent six years in jail?"

Oliver jumped at the admission. It seemed completely incomprehensible that an ex-convict had become his head of security. "For what?" he asked warily.

The corner of Jonathan's mouth tweaked at Oliver's unease. "I sent a man to the hospital," he announced, which did little to assuage Oliver's discomfort. Jonathan added, "He'd assaulted my sister."

Oliver had met Jonathan's sister a few times, mostly at holiday events that he'd extended an invitation to. She was a nice lady, younger than Jonathan, barely older than Oliver. "I was up for parole when the rebellion in Sonage over their crooked governor sprung up."

Oliver had been young during the issue in Sonage. It had been shortly after elections had been established for governors and province officials. The people in Sonage had elected a governor that had promised miracles, and when he hadn't delivered, they'd tried to depose of him themselves and take control of the province. While Eadlyn hadn't been fond of the governor in question, she'd couldn't lose control to a group of insurgents. Extra military forces had been deployed to quell the province.

"So they let you out to keep the peace?" Oliver surmised.

"I got a choice: the rest of my sentence or service," Jonathan related. His face was hard, his mouth set in a line. "I understand why it was done, but all of the people involved with the rebellion were captured or… dealt with."

Oliver knew what that meant. "So, how'd you get here?"

"More of the same," shrugged Jonathan. "When your mom came to visit the province once everything had been settled, someone tried to pull a gun on her. The only shot he got off hit me before I killed him."

Oliver nodded. "Direct service to the monarch tends to get you promoted pretty quickly."

"I like my job," Jonathan declared, "And it's been good for me, for my family. I like you, Oliver, and as my king, I will protect you with my life. Am I necessarily proud of the things that I had to do to get here?" He shrugged. "Maybe not. But I did what I had to."

Jonathan stood and clapped a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Just something to think about. I'll go see if your car's here."

Oliver was silent on the way back to the palace. There was too much on his mind, and he didn't even know how to begin processing everything he'd learned. His stomach sank as he realized should probably have a calmer conversation with Mae when he got back.

Mae's room was set aside from some of the other Selected's, in the same small hallway as Dalila, Kaitlyn, and Gabrielle's. When he rounded the corner that led to their little hallway, he noticed that Mae's door was open, and he could hear voices coming from inside the room. In a split second decision, he decided to hang on the other side of the corner to get an idea of what he was walking into.

"But did he specifically say he was sending you home?" a voice fretted. He was pretty sure it was Kaitlyn.

Despite how stoic she'd been on the flight back, Mae's voice sounded weak and tearful now. "He didn't have to," she countered. "You should've seen the way he looked at me."

"He _has_ to understand," argued Presley, "He's done some questionable things too."

"You should just to talk to him," Isolde suggested. "We all know Oliver has a temper. If he's had some time to calm down…" No one moved to agree with her, and she broke off with a sigh. "I don't want you to go," Isolde muttered, her voice sounding watery as well. "How am I supposed to do this without you?"

There was a strangled sob, and a moment later, he heard shuffling and assumed the girls were moving to hug each other through their tears. A moment later, there was a knock on Mae's open door, and Oliver peeked around the corner to see who it was.

The last person he'd expected to see was his father. But there Kile was, looking remarkably unsurprised by the scene that had greeted him. "Ladies," he smiled, "Could I have a moment with Lady Mae?"

They all agreed, and Oliver prayed that none of them approached his clandestine corner. After a few moments, he heard Mae blow her nose and assumed that his father had offered her his handkerchief. It was one of his best attempts at comforting; Oliver had always suspected he'd inherited some of his cluelessness when it came to emotions from his father.

"And here I thought you were going to love the day that Oliver had planned," Kile remarked. Mae laughed hollowly. "Want to talk about it?"

"I don't think there's anything to talk about," Mae frowned, "I can't change my past, and he can't accept it." There was a pause before she added, "And maybe he's right not to. I doubt the Queen will let me stay when she hears."

"Governor Zenner's already called for her," admitted Kile, "Luckily, she left for her trip this morning."

"Am I being eliminated?" asked Mae, a note of fear in her voice.

"Let me handle Eadlyn," offered Kile, "I just have one question: do you care for my son?"

She must have responded with a nod or shake of her head, because the next voice that Oliver heard was Kile's. "Oliver has his strengths and weaknesses just like anyone else. In the last few weeks of the Selection, I've watched him grow more than I've seen in some time. I might just be his lame old dad, but I can see that he cares about you girls. I'm not saying give him a pass for what he said today, because I know he has a temper, but if he's worth it, give him time." Oliver glanced around the corner to see Kile pat her shoulder reassuringly before he left.

Oliver sat on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest while his thoughts swirled. She was just on the other side of the wall, and if he swallowed his pride, they could begin to move forward. But his jealousy didn't let him. He was plagued by the idea that once again he might be falling in love with someone that didn't feel as strongly about him, just like Regan.

So instead, Oliver stood and slowly made his way back to his room in search of some solitude. He was ready to grab a bottle of tequila and drink enough to quiet the world when he noticed an orange package on his coffee table. Frowning, he picked it up.

It was a book: _The Alchemist_ by Paulo Coelho. The copy looked like it had been well-loved and read a million times. Many pages were creased, and as he flipped through it, he saw that certain lines were underlined in pen or asterisked. A small silver notecard stuck out from the middle of the book, and he pulled it out.

 _I'm not giving up. – M_

He didn't quite smile, but his frown faded. He swallowed thickly, gently set the notecard in a drawer at his desk for safekeeping, and lowered himself into his seat before he opened the book to page one and began the story that meant so much to Mae.

And it did more for him than a bottle of tequila ever would have been able to.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Hi everyone! A few announcements:  First, sorry this is so late. I started school again, so updates will slow down some. I'll try my best to have one every two weeks. Second, I've decided to start a one-shot series as a companion to this story. The one-shots will be written by request to show the Selected's/other character's POVs, so if there's something you'd like to see, **PM** me with 1. The character's POV you'd like to see and 2. A pre-existing plot point in the story that you'd like to see from this POV/expanded on (example: Margaery's POV before/after her first date with Oliver, Tristan's POV at the first cocktail party, etc.). Finally, today is my birthday, and I'm not too proud to ask for birthday reviews (: Enjoy!

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Oliver had come to the conclusion that sometimes he really did make the worst decisions.

"Your Highness, if you could just turn this way. And, perhaps, smile?"

He had a feeling that the expression he directed at the camera looked more like a grimace, but the photographer forced his own smile. "Lovely."

It wasn't the photographer's fault that Oliver was so unresponsive. Unfortunately for them, Oliver simply objected to being followed around by a media crew, particularly while he was on a date.

He'd gotten his way, and the palace had remained clear of all cameras and reporters in the immediate aftermath of the Evelyn situation. But the people had responded so well to the increased media coverage from the Harvest Festival that Eadlyn had been unable to argue with the demands of the public and her own council, so Coen had been entrusted with pulling together a crew that he trusted to document Oliver's Selection.

Oliver had been personally introduced to the group by their mutual acquaintance. The team consisted of two men and a singular woman, all of whom were around Coen's age, somewhere under thirty. The cheerful woman, Fiona, was the energetic ring leader, charged with drafting any written information on the Selection and was quite easy to speak to. The men, a photographer named Leon and a videographer called Morty, were both quieter, though friendly enough and focused on their jobs.

Unfortunately, the fact that the group was personable didn't make it easier for Oliver to enjoy their presence. The fact that something as basic as the brunch that he'd invited Irina to was going to be broadcast for the country irritated him.

He supposed it was partially his fault for deciding to invite Irina instead of one of the girls that he was more comfortable with. He still had a list of girls that he was trying to spend more time around, but since Eadlyn had taken off on her two-week tour of Illéa, the time and attention that he had to devote to his Selection had severely decreased.

It was difficult to fully grasp what being king would be like since Oliver quickly realized that there was a big difference in expectations between king and those that he'd seen his father fulfill as king consort. He hadn't even been entrusted with all of his mother's tasks while she was away, but Oliver was already exhausted. There was an endless string of council meetings, things to sign (which he unfortunately had to read first), and phone calls, in addition to the Selection and the ongoing development of Illéa's naval forces.

Tristan had pointed out that he hadn't been on a single date in the first week that Eadlyn had been gone, and as he'd already cleared the day for his highly anticipated meeting with Xander Seymour, he'd decided it would probably be worth his while to get in some time with the girls.

It felt like a bit of a mistake _now_ , but it had been decided on with the best of intentions. Oliver just realized that there was no way he and Irina would ever be compatible. Cordial, perhaps, if necessary, but if he were to marry her, they would be two strangers with their own separate lives, certainly nothing to write fairytales about.

But she was the safest choice.

Her compliance was her crowning glory. Oliver had tested the waters throughout their meal. She commented at the beginning of lunch that she absolutely hated detested cauliflower, yet she dutifully tried it when Oliver insisted. He'd decided that he didn't like their table set up, so when he'd collected his plate and leaned against a tree in the garden, she'd followed suit despite the fact that she was wearing a white silk skirt. She smiled throughout the whole ordeal, even when Oliver looked sullen.

"Why don't we take a walk?" Irina suggested as she placed her silverware delicately in the proper position to signal the servers that she was finished. She tossed a nod at the cameras. "They can follow at a distance."

Oliver agreed, and as the two made their way through the garden, they were mostly silent. "Thank you for the invitation," Irina finally offered.

"Yeah," shrugged Oliver, "No problem."

When they were at a far enough distance, Irina glanced over her shoulders at the camera. "You should probably kiss me," she declared.

Oliver started. "Uh, excuse me?"

When she looked back at him, her face was serious. "The last picture that people saw of us we were enthusiastically making out," she pointed out. "But you haven't been particularly warm today. It might confuse people."

And that was when Oliver thoroughly began to regret the date. It wasn't like Irina was unattractive—she wasn't—and he didn't think that kissing her would be _awful_ , but a part of him instantly thought of the other girls.

Luckily, he was saved by the bell when he noticed Elijah approaching from the palace. "One second," he requested as he left Irina to join Elijah.

"Your guest has arrived," Elijah announced.

Oliver breathed out a sigh of relief. "Only a whole three hours late."

Elijah snorted. "Well, he's in the study whenever you're ready." They both glanced over Oliver's shoulder at Irina. "Unless you want to finish up here—"

"Uh, no," Oliver answered, a little too quickly, causing Elijah to laugh. "One sec."

Irina looked annoyed when he joined her. "I'm sorry," he shrugged, "I've got a meeting."

"Of course." Her tone was not nearly as understanding as the words, but Oliver didn't focus on it as he joined Elijah and headed back into the castle towards his study for his highly anticipated meeting with Margaery's brother.

Xander Seymour was a tall, thin man. He wasn't physically imposing and rather reminded Oliver of Margaery in some ways: same reddish brown hair, upturned mouth, pale skin, and evaluative blue eyes. He stood rigidly near the French doors that overlooked the grounds, and Oliver had to clear his throat in order to capture his attention.

The similarities between brother and sister ended at appearance. Xander was more obviously confident than his younger sister, and when he shook Oliver's hand, it was the strong sort of grip that Kile and Maxon had always encouraged Oliver to use. He tried not to wince as he returned the handshake. "So," remarked Xander, and Oliver was taken aback again as he was usually the first to address anyone, "You're the man who's dating my baby sister."

Despite his surprise, Oliver liked the straight to the point greeting. It was the sort of approach he'd employ with anyone who dated Celine. "Unless there's another crown prince," he quipped.

He did grow a little nervous when Xander didn't laugh and instead regarded him with a hard gaze. "Among sixteen other girls," added Xander.

Panic sweat flooded Oliver's palms. If Xander noticed their handshake become noticeably clammy, he didn't visibly react. Oliver wriggled his fingers away, an undignified motion that Eadlyn would have scolded him for had she been present. "Well, Mr. Seymour, this _is_ the Selection," Oliver retorted, "Sort of what the girls sign up for."

"A bit archaic, hmm?" proposed Xander.

Oliver flushed and stepped away. "That's neither here nor there," he bristled. There was a part of him that felt responsible for the defense of the Selection, a process that had worked for his family and had been generally positive for him thus far. He settled himself behind his desk and gestured to the seat across from him. Tristan and Elijah, who lounged in nearby armchairs, both looked amused by the exchange.

"How does Marg stack up?" the red haired man continued. He settled himself into his chair, knit his fingers together, and expectantly stared at Oliver.

Oliver tugged at his tie and considered requesting that Anderson open a window. "Look, Mr. Seymour, there are many wonderful girls here, Margaery included, but I didn't bring you here to discuss my personal life—"

"Of course," allowed Xander. "Pray, why was I summoned to the hallowed capital of our dear country?"

Irritation stabbed at Oliver as he considered Xander's arrogance, especially as Oliver had waited nearly all morning for the man. "Well, now that you've finally graced us with your presence—"

"I'm a busy man, sir," Xander cut him off coolly.

There was a long moment of tense silence between the two haughty men in which Oliver's eye twitched and he wondered if he could have the other charged with any crime (was 'irritating the sovereign' illegal?) before, in continuation of his thoroughly perplexing behavior, Xander burst into laughter. Oliver frowned. "Have I missed something?"

Almost immediately, Xander's body language relaxed. He leaned forward in his chair, a wide smile lighting up his face, and offered, "I was only messing with you. Sorry, Your Highness. Had to."

Tristan and Elijah were barely suppressing their own amusement, and Oliver exhaled a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Good lord, man," he breathed, "I was about to have a stroke over here."

Xander grinned and gave a mock bow. "Xander Seymour, at your service. Corporate slave in training and part-time health hazard."

Oliver relaxed in his chair, although he did roll up the sleeves of his button up shirt in order to cool down. "So, did Margaery explain why you were here at all?" he asked. Xander confirmed that she had not, so Oliver motioned Elijah over, who produced a nondescript manila folder.

"If you could just sign here, here, and here, Seymour," chirped Elijah as he offered a pen to Xander.

"Now _I'm_ the nervous one," joked Xander as he scanned the pages.

"Just your standard nondisclosure agreement," explained Tristan, "Everything discussed today is classified and not to be discussed with anyone under security clearance A, including family, business associates, et cetera, on pain of imprisonment and prosecution if you're found in breach of said agreement." The younger prince's clarification didn't seem to assuage Xander's uneasiness, although the latter took a moment to read the documents before he unenthusiastically scribbled his name on the appropriate lines.

As Elijah took the folder back from Xander, Oliver picked up two more pens and pointed them at his council members. "You two as well," he noted.

It was Xander's turn to be entertained as Tristan and Elijah looked insulted. "I've known you since we were nine!" argued Elijah.

"You wouldn't prosecute _me_ ," tried Tristan.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Yes, and all these years have shown me that you're physically incapable of keeping a secret, Elijah," he pointed out. "And I would prosecute you with relish, Tristan. You know that. I tried to have you tried for treason when you were seven for stealing the cookies Grandma Ames made me."

"They were _for all of us_ ," argued Tristan, as he always did when the Great Cookie Debacle was brought up.

"Sign," countered Oliver. There was a small amount of grumbling before both did as instructed before Oliver stamped all three copies with his signet ring and filed them away.

"The suspense," quipped Xander.

Oliver pulled a slim binder out and passed it to the three men. There was silence as they perused the proposal, but Oliver watched them closely, noting every indication of shock or confusion. When they all finished, it was Tristan who spoke first. "You're building a navy?" Oliver nodded and was annoyed when this prompted Tristan's next question: "Does Mom know?"

"It's still in early developmental stages," Oliver explained circuitously, "And I think since I'm going to be king one day, this is well within my realm of responsibilities. Mom has even said she's not the best with martial strategizing."

"Are you expecting to be attacked?" asked Elijah, his face remarkably serious.

It was a question that he'd known would be asked and one that Oliver had pondered upon how to answer. "It's preventative," he declared, carefully avoiding the topic of Russia, "If we are ever attacked, we would be highly unprepared to defend ourselves. Our army is our only organized group of soldiers, and it's been in decline since the end of the war with New Asia."

Elijah's frown deepened. "Did you purposely keep Everly and Raphael out of this meeting?" he asked.

Oliver chewed at his bottom lip nervously for a moment before he nodded. "I don't want it to seem warmongering," he explained, "I _don't_ want any wars. I just want to be prepared in the event that we're faced with any conflicts throughout my reign or after. The world is militarizing again, and we're getting left behind."

Xander spoke up. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I don't quite understand what my involvement would be," he admitted.

Oliver grinned at him. "I want you to lead the research and development."

Although Xander didn't excitedly and immediately agree as Oliver had hoped he would, he didn't immediately decline either, which Oliver decided was a good sign. "The company is my father's," Xander pointed out with a frown.

Oliver shrugged. "And the country is my mother's," he challenged. "I can help with funding and give you access to the best universities in Illéa."

Xander's frown dissipated slightly. "It's a good proposal," he offered as he glanced down at the binder, "and I suppose Marg told you I was curious about potential expansion opportunities."

"There wouldn't be a better one," Oliver quickly inserted, "And we could discuss a limited market monopoly."

The men stared at each other for a long minute—Oliver holding his breath as Xander weighed both sides of the offer—before the businessman broke into a smile, which caused the prince to exhale. "Alright," he nodded, "I'm in."

The two shook hands, and this time, Oliver's fingers weren't subjected to Xander's intimidation attempts. After they discussed some further details about Oliver's desired timeline, Xander asked if he'd be able to visit Margaery before he left, and Oliver offered to show him to her room himself, since he'd planned on visiting the Selected's wing anyway.

When Margaery and Xander were reunited, both elated, Oliver moved on to his next mission for the day and collected Dalila and Cameron.

As he'd sent out short notes to them about his hope that they would be able to assist him with a certain job, neither were surprised to see him, though both seemed pleased. "What are we doing today?" Dalila asked cheerfully as they headed to the kitchens.

"Hmm," interjected Cameron, "We're going to the kitchens: I wonder what on _earth_ we could possibly be doing, Dalila."

Although Oliver snorted and Dalila rolled her eyes, no one seemed too bothered by Cameron's usual grumpiness, and Oliver explained anyway. "I was wondering if you guys would be able to help me," he admitted, "I want to have a big dessert party tonight."

Both girls lit up. "My kind of party," beamed Dalila.

They emerged into the kitchen, and all of the ingredients and tools that Oliver had requested were set out on the enormous wood island. The kitchens were somewhat foreign territory for Oliver. He could obtain a snack from the fridge on his own or grab a spoon or dish if need be, but as far as actually utilizing the kitchens, he was useless. He had a feeling that the girls would have a better idea of how to use it than he would.

"What should we make?" Cameron asked.

Oliver shrugged. "Whatever you want," he offered. "You guys are the experts here."

Cameron needed little encouragement and excitedly began grabbing different ingredients before Dalila could even inspect them. Dalila didn't seem bothered by it though, and she turned to Oliver. "Want to help?"

He hesitated for a moment. "I'm a really awful cook," he admitted.

Dalila smiled. "Good thing I'm an expert, like you said," she countered with a teasing smile.

"Alright," Oliver relented with a smile. "What should we make?"

They came to the conclusion that they both liked fruity desserts, so they decided to make mini pineapple upside down cakes for everyone. Dalila was an exceptional teacher and not only gave Oliver comprehensible instructions but also anticipated his mistakes before he messed things up too badly.

"So why'd you go to culinary school if your family already has a restaurant in Panama?" Oliver wondered as he watched her toss different components into a saucepan to make a glaze for the cake.

"Well," she began, "My family's restaurant is traditional Panamanian food. And it's great, I love Panamanian, but I wanted to be able to cook anything and to know more. I've always wanted to pursue some kind of higher education, even before I knew it would be culinary school. Illéa has such unique education opportunities, especially thanks to your father."

Oliver nodded. "He's always thought that was pretty important," he agreed.

"It is," she smiled as she removed the saucepan from the heat and let it cool. She turned to Oliver and added, "Before your grandparents abolished the castes, my family were Sixes. With all of the opportunities the monarchy has established though, my parents earned enough money to help me pay for culinary school."

Sometimes, the Selected shared things with him that made him proud to be a member of the royal family and even, on occasion, a little excited about the opportunities he would have as king to help people. "So, if you could pick one place in the world to go study in, where would it be?" he asked.

Dalila's reply was swift, as though it was something she'd given thought to. "Italy."

Oliver groaned. "Don't tell Raphael that," he warned her, "He'll never shut up about prosciutto or carbonara."

Dalila laughed before she added, "One day, it'll happen."

"I'm sure it will," Oliver smiled in agreement.

Because Dalila was a genius, they'd made an extra cake to sample their work, and Oliver had to resist the urge to reach for another after he'd sampled his portion. Cameron had decided to make raspberry filled chocolate cupcakes, which proved to be delicious as well when she split one with Oliver and Dalila. The two helped him pick out two types of ice cream, gelato, sorbet, and a couple types of cookies that the pastry chefs were left in charge of for the dessert smorgasbord, all of which sounded so good that Oliver purposely held back at dinner in anticipation.

When dinner was cleared away, Oliver invited the girls to one of his favorite rooms in the palace, which he'd dumbly nicknamed the Rainbow Room as a child and had been unable to escape as an adult. He wasn't sure what the material it had been made of, but the floors had a prismatic reflection, as though one was standing within a kaleidoscope of color. Aside from the floors, the walls and ceilings were all constructed of glass and afforded a beautiful view of the twinkling night sky. There was a huge, circular table in the middle of the room with seventeen seats, and a heap of dessert awaited each girl at their seat.

Oliver took a minute to sample everything before he eventually spoke. He hadn't seen the girls much that week, so he asked, "So, how's everyone been?"

There were a few mumbled responses, and Oliver wondered if it was just him or if the atmosphere amongst the girls seemed a little chilly. He didn't have much time to dwell on the thought though, for Irina announced, "It's been a great week. Very scholarly."

"How so?" asked Oliver.

Irina's eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze to Mae, and Oliver's suspicion that there was tension between the girls was confirmed when she declared, "Mae, for example, has obviously been experimenting with how little she can wear around the palace before she's sent packing."

A few spoons clattered against their dishes, and Oliver choked on his cake. Mae, however, seemed calm, and a smile spread over her face. She wasn't dressed obscenely, by any means, but she seemed to have taken Oliver's overlook as an invitation to do what she pleased. She was clad in a strapless black dress that hugged her curves and featured an enticing slit that traveled high in the skirt, a wash of red lipstick adding to the vampy appearance. In response to Irina's jab, she noted with a tone coated in sarcasm, "Yes, and Irina, as always, remains a picture of diplomacy."

Irina's eyes narrowed, and no one else spoke as discomfort enveloped them all. Oliver racked his brain as he tried to think of something to say to divert the conversation, but he came up blank. Luckily, from his left, Kaitlyn squeaked (in a loud and obvious voice), "Wow, what delicious cupcakes, Cameron." She shoved a too large bite of her large treat into her mouth and chewed furiously.

Oliver nodded his agreement and followed suit, as did many of the only girls. Irina and Mae maintained their staring contest for a long minute before Kaitlyn practically shoved a piece of cupcake into Mae's mouth in an attempt to distract her friend.

"How was your visit with Xander?" Oliver asked as he turned to Margaery.

Her face lit up. "It was wonderful," she smiled, "I'm so glad I got to see him while he was here. I hope he was helpful?"

"Very," nodded Oliver. Margaery met his gaze, and they both smiled knowingly before Irina cleared her throat loudly.

Oliver was beginning to regret their date this morning, for his dismissal of her seemed to have put Irina in a particularly thorny mood. "It might be worth consideration to have some more athletic dates into the future, Your Highness," she informed Oliver. " _Some_ of us are going to end up rather larger if you keep up such decadent get-togethers." Her eyes moved to some of the curvier girls, from Patricia (who rolled her eyes) to Rosalie (who wilted under the glare) and finally to Presley (whose fist tightened around her fork until her knuckles were white).

" _Some_ of us have things far worse than weight to worry about," Isolde remarked calmly from where she sat beside Presley. "An ugly personality, for example."

Irina's ire changed targets, although she smiled sweetly. "Isolde," she mused. "Speaking of poor qualities… where have you been slinking off to so frequently, dear? I believe duplicity is frowned upon as well."

Oliver's gaze snapped between the girls like he was watching a tennis match, his curiosity admittedly piqued by the mention of Isolde's sneakiness. He didn't linger on it for long, though, as his attention was pulled away when Mae knocked her wine over. "Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed as she jumped out of her chair and began to clean it up. She failed to recover the cup until the red had washed over the table, and Rosalie rose from her place beside her to help Mae clean it.

When Mae settled back into her seat, no one seemed to remember the tension between Irina and Isolde. Patricia began to tell Oliver about a chess game that Kaden and Kile had played over an online video chat that she'd coached the latter through to a triumphant victory when Irina regained her control. "I always thought chess was so boring," she chuckled at Patricia, whose brow furrowed in annoyance.

If ever there were uncomfortable disagreements between his family, Oliver's course of action was changing the subject, and he decided to maintain that method. "Anyone read anything interesting lately?" he suggested weakly.

He wanted to kick himself when Irina perked up. "So funny you ask," she giggled. "I saw the most interesting story in the library the other day."

It seemed an innocuous enough statement so Oliver hoped that her irritation was forgotten and encouragingly responded, "Oh, yeah?"

Irina nodded. "So funny, Isolde," she remarked as she turned to the blonde, "It was called _Tristan and Isolde_."

It took Oliver a moment to feel weird about it. "Yes, it's quite an old story," Isolde responded coolly, her arms crossed over her chest and her plate of dessert forgotten.

"What a coincidence," interjected Oliver.

They both ignored him, which was a new and not entirely enjoyable experience for Oliver. Irina looked positively delighted. "Ill-fated romance. Almost _prophetic,_ wouldn't you say?" she sneered.

Isolde's face was hard. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Do I need to spell it out?" smirked Irina.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Do I have reason to?"

"Okay," Oliver interjected, his voice louder and more forceful than before. "That's enough. Can we all just calm down and eat our fucking pineapple upside down cakes?" Irina and Isolde continued to glower at each other, but neither spoke. After a long minute, Isolde picked up her fork and stabbed at her cake.

"It's delicious, Delila," she complimented. But it was obvious that she wasn't enjoying the cake, and after a second, she tossed her napkin onto the table and stood. "Excuse me," she muttered before she stalked from the room.

Everyone watched her retreat, a few even rising as though to follow after her, but Oliver stopped them. "Uh, I'll be right back," he assured the girls before he hurried after Isolde.

Even though she was wearing heels, Oliver had to jog to catch up with her. "Isolde!" he called, only capturing after attention after he'd beckoned to her three times.

"What?" she demanded as she spun around. When she realized it was Oliver behind her, she immediately frowned and added, "I'm sorry. Irina just drives me crazy."

"I know that she's, uh, a bit abrasive—"

"She's a bitch," Isolde bluntly spat. "But I shouldn't let her get under my skin."

Oliver hesitated. "Is, uh, is there a reason that she bothered you so much?" he eventually asked. "When she said… ill-fated love… you seemed a little…"

She avoided his gaze, and he forced himself to clarify, "I have a feeling I'm not your first relationship."

"Not exactly," she admitted, her face looking pained. She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead as though the evening had caused a headache to erupt. "I'm trying to deal with it, but Irina…"

Oliver shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Is. We all had lives before the Selection stared."

She grimaced. "Yeah."

"Want to come finish your dessert?" he asked. "I'm not trying to brag, but Delila and I made some pretty good cake."

Despite her irritation, a small smile appeared. "Alright," she agreed as she accepted the hand that Oliver offered to her and let him lead her back to the Rainbow Room.

If Irina was annoyed before, she looked apoplectic when Oliver and Isolde walked into the room hand in hand. Before she could say much though, Oliver turned to Brynn. "Your birthday is coming up soon, isn't it, Brynn?" he asked.

She nodded. "Two weeks," answered the brunette, obviously excited.

"What would you like to do?" Oliver asked. "I've got a lot of help in the party planning department," he added as he gestured at all of the other girls at the table.

Brynn picked at a seam in her dress. "I've always wanted to try paint balling," she admitted.

A few of the girls excitedly assented, and although Oliver was surprised, he grinned, "I think I can make that happen."

For a minute, Oliver felt encouraged, like the dessert party hadn't been a complete disaster. His triumphant feeing only lasted for a moment until the night's most unwelcome voice remarked, "What a quaint idea."

All eyes swiveled to Irina. "I mean, hardly a proper pastime for a would be queen, but who am I to judge?" she shrugged smartly.

Across the table, Presley slammed her glass down. "Would you give it a rest, Irina?" she snapped.

Irina raised her thin eyebrows. "You seem grouchy, Presley," she noted as she tossed her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder, "You know, I've heard that carbohydrate intake can affect your temper. You should probably cut back. Among other reasons, of course—"

"I said, _enough_ ," repeated Presley as she jumped up from her chair. "God, I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt time and time again, but you're just so judgmental and hypocritical. Give it a rest, alright? It's obvious that you only pick at everyone because of your own self-doubt, and I'm tired of it. Who cares that I've got an ass? I sure don't. And who cares if Brynn wants to run around shooting targets that we're all pretending are you for her birthday?"

Presley huffed and rolled her eyes. "I have known dozens of sad, insecure girls like you, and I feel sorry for you, Irina. Only one person here is staying at the palace forever, but you're the only one who'll be leaving empty handed. The rest of us will have each other, and I feel sorry for you that you preferred to focus on tearing other people down rather than enjoying this incredible experience."

Satisfied with everything that she'd gotten off her chest, Presley curtsied to Oliver and then sauntered from the room. Barely repressing their smiles, many of the other girls decided to take their leave as well. Irina sat looking shocked for a moment until Xylie, Cameron and Ebony—usually the closest thing to friends that she had—left as well.

"Excuse me," Irina finally muttered, and she stood before Oliver could reply.

As Oliver sat alone in the Rainbow Room, the most prominent thought on the forefront of his mind was what the hell had just happened? He'd always thought that the girls got along pretty well, but he had a feeling that he was a little more out of touch with the competition than he'd thought. He decided he'd talk to Everly and Celine about how things had been going tomorrow and grabbed a final cupcake before he too deserted the Rainbow Room.

In continuation with the strange day that he'd had, he was surprised to find Presley sitting outside his door when he returned to his room. She was still clad in the dress she'd worn to dinner, although she had discarded her shoes. "Hey," he greeted her, a little surprised.

She smiled up at him. "Hi. I don't think I'm technically allowed to be here."

"Technically not," Oliver laughed as he held out a hand to help pull her to her feet. "But you can have a pass. Want to come in?"

She nodded, and Oliver was glad that his room had been recently cleaned when he invited her in. "Wow," noted Presley as she took scope of his room, "Shockingly normal. We had bets that you'd have a full bar and a stripper pole."

Oliver snorted. "Those are in the bathroom," he countered dismissively. "So, was it just me, or was dessert really weird?" he asked as he tugged his tie off and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed on a lamp shade, and Presley laughed.

"It was. I actually wanted to apologize about that, I suppose," she sighed, "I mean, not about anything that I said, really. Irina deserved it all. But maybe not the venue."

Oliver waved her off as he dropped onto his couch and gestured for her to join him. "Don't worry about it," he assured her. "I have a feeling that I might've been a little blinded by Irina's, um, helpfulness."

Presley smirked. "You mean pretending to be the definitely not-a-Selected you were caught making out with?" she teased.

Oliver stuck his tongue out at her. "If I recall, I've been forgiven by that. I'm enacting double jeopardy: you can't be mad at me about it again." Presley snorted, but she didn't refute his poor logic, so Oliver continued, "I think it's pretty obvious that Irina and I are not compatible. She offered to be a simple solution in the event that I didn't find the actual love of my life, but her competitiveness seems to be getting to her."

Presley nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. "So, do you not need a simple solution anymore?"

"I don't," confirmed Oliver. And he was relieved by the answer. Despite the complexities of many of his relationships, he knew that the feelings he was developing were unlike anything he'd felt before, even for Regan, whom he'd believed to be the love of his life.

The smile that spread over Presley's face expressed her approval of his response. "I'm glad."

A sinking feeling tugged at Oliver's stomach as he examined her face. "But?"

She took a long, deep breath before she spoke next: "I think I'm ready to go home."

The first thing that came to Oliver's mind was their first date when she'd yelled at him about wasting his opportunity as prince, and he'd actually thought about sending her home. It felt like they were both completely different people: he was more responsible and focused on how he could help the country, she more patient and understanding. While he wasn't necessarily surprised by her declaration, it still hurt.

"You that anxious to get back to school?" he tried to joke, although it didn't have his usual teasing behind it. "I mean, you could probably at least draw it out the rest of the semester if you wanted."

He wasn't sure, but it looked like there was a small sadness in Presley's eyes as well. She shook her head. "I'm ready," she repeated. "I think I can really do some good in the world."

In spite of the fact that he already missed her, Oliver gave a tight smile. "I know you can."

She reached out and gently squeezed his hand. "I'll always be here for you," she offered, "In your corner, you know."

Smiling came a little easier this time. "Even if I didn't marry someone, the whole Selection would be worth it for that," he declared gallantly. Presley rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but her own burgeoning grin formed as well. Oliver paused for a moment before he felt the need to add, "I've become a better person because of you. So thank you."

Her eyes lit up, and it might've been the first time that Oliver fully understood how much helping other people meant to Presley. "Thank _you_ ," she replied, "I'm proud to be your subject and more importantly, I hope, your friend."

There was little else to be said, but Oliver wasn't quite ready to let go. "Want a drink before you go?" he asked. "Raphael brought some good stuff from Italy."

Presley snored—he was going to miss that sound—but nodded her agreement. "What kind of person would I be if I passed up wine that probably costs more than all of my textbooks?"

A glass turned into the whole bottle, and as it was a truly impressive vintage (in a massive bottle, as any alcohol that Raphael ever gifted), they were both a bit red cheeked and giggly at the night's conclusion. They were both relaxed by the wine, and for some reason that made sense to their alcohol tinged brains, they both laid on their backs on the couch, their legs and feet tossed over the back. "I don't think I'm ever going to be able to get this pink bracelet off," Oliver declared as he shook his wrist at Presley.

She considered the problem as she struggled through a long drink from her glass. Drinking upside down had its complications. "You could cut it," she offered.

Oliver gasped. " _Cut it?_ Thanks for the suggestion, Satan." She broke into a peal of giggles, and Oliver shook his hair and declared, "Never. We'll be bracelet twins for life. And I forbid you from ever cutting yours, as head of the country and the most powerful person in the world."

"God complex much?" teased Presley. She twisted her own bracelet, and beside it, Oliver noticed the little triangle that Kaitlyn had gifted her.

"Are you gonna miss them?" Oliver asked, "Your pizza friends?"

Presley laughed. "Kaitlyn is ridiculous," she noted affectionately, "But yes. If you're stupid enough to let any of them go, I'd probably be at their houses before they even got there."

Emboldened by over a half a bottle of wine, Oliver asked, "Gonna miss me?"

Presley turned to look at him, her dark brown eyes serious. "You know, I think I kind of love you."

It was the sort of admission that caused a warm feeling to blossom in his chest and ignited all of his nerve endings. "That doesn't seem to line up with wanting to leave," he pointed out.

She elbowed him teasingly, although her face was pensive. "I love you enough to know that we're not the ones for each other. I love you in the way that I'm always going to watch you do great things and cheer for you, even if I can't be here with you. We've got our own paths, Ol, and I think we're both finally on them."

It made sense, even if it wasn't what he was supposed to find through the Selection. "I kind of love you too," he realized, "Like a friend way or something. I'd throw you a weekend of birthday parties or steal a plane for you, if you wanted."

"I don't think I want to know how that second one relates to friendship, but duly noted," she chuckled.

Oliver stared at his ceiling. "You know you're the second girl outside of my family that's ever said that to me?" he reflected. "And you didn't even mean it in _that_ way. Prince Oliver Woodwork-Schreave: what a catch."

"Was Regan the first?"

He didn't even wonder how she knew. "Yeah," he sighed.

After a few moments of silence, Presley added, "I don't think Regan meant it that way either. If she did, I think things would've turned out a lot differently."

"Yeah?" frowned Oliver.

Presley nodded. "You don't just leave people you love." She sat up, dragging Oliver with her. "Which is why," she declared, "I'm not saying goodbye."

"Well, that's just rude," teased Oliver.

There was a knock at the door, and Jonathan entered a moment later. "Lady Presley's car is here," he announced.

"She'll be shortly," Oliver responded, his buzz fading as the reality of the situation set in. He turned to Presley. "Last chance. Baffin is freezing this time of you. Why not stay, maybe get a tan?"

They both glanced down at her mocha skin, and Presley rolled her eyes fondly before she pulled him in for a hug. "Regan was an idiot, Oliver," she declared as she squeezed him tightly. "I don't see any of these girls making that mistake. Even Irina." They pulled apart, and she added, "Here," as she pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

"What's this?" Oliver asked as he unfolded it.

"My phone number," she explained, "Give me a call if you ever need talked off the ledge."

"You don't know what you just got yourself into," he snorted as he tightened his fist around the paper. "You're going to hire an answering service to handle me."

They both stood, and he led her to the door. "Time to say goodbye to the pizza friends?" he asked.

She nodded, her sadness showing in her face. "Good luck," he offered.

"Same to you," she beamed at him. "You've really come a long way from the drunk prince who fell in a fountain the first night."

He pulled her in for a hug. "You have too," he agreed, "I mean you took on supermodel Irina tonight. If that doesn't scream self-confidence, I don't know what does."

True to her word, she did not say goodbye. "Thank you," she smiled, "for this experience. For who you are. For what you've given me." And with that, Presley turned and retreated down the hall until she turned a corner and disappeared.

"See you soon," Oliver murmured to himself. He believed in that wholeheartedly. Oliver didn't make many friends, but when he did, he didn't let them go. Like Elijah and Raphael, Presley had become a part of Oliver's life, a friendship that he would maintain no matter what for years to come.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:** Hello, lovely readers! I just wanted to give a quick shout out to all of my very faithful reviewers: **wolfofstark, rysaspirit, morethanjustastory, Fryllabrille201,** and **Canadaorbust**. You five have been so solid throughout the entire story, and you really keep me motivated to keep writing, especially when I feel too busy or discouraged or overwhelmed. Thank you guys so much for your support. All the silent readers can thank you for this story's continuation ;)

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By the time the end of Eadlyn's trip rolled around, Oliver wanted to cry in relief. His stint in an executive position had shown him that Illéa was essentially a large but vulnerable baby that was constantly screaming for attention and care, and Oliver had no clue what it wanted or needed to be happy. Eadlyn decided to take a few days to visit his uncle Osten and his girlfriend Maya in Sonage, but Lady Neena had returned and taken the reins back from Oliver which left him with a rare bit of freedom before his mother was due to arrive in Angeles late that night.

So with the bit of free time he had before he'd have to debrief his mom, Oliver planned a date. He was admittedly feeling a bit disheartened after the debacle with Irina the previous week, he missed Presley's company, and he had yet to clear the air with Mae. October was beginning to draw to a close, and since he'd hoped to have it narrowed down to the Elite before the Christmas holidays arrived, his self-imposed time line was beginning to worry him.

When he finally hunted down the girl he'd been looking for, he was glad to find her alone. The disastrous dessert party had made him dread encountering large groups of Selected together for the time being. But Gabi was curled up on a chair in the library that had been reserved expressly for the girls. She looked like the epitome of autumn in a rusty red skirt, a warm looking beige sweater with black polka dots and a pearl design at the neck, and pointed toe black flats. Her shoes were abandoned though as she was settled into the chair with her feet tucked beneath her. A letter was clasped between her hands, and she was so enthralled that it took her a minute to take note of Oliver's arrival.

"Oliver," she noted, her face surprised. She quickly slipped her feet back into her shoes. "Are you looking for someone?" She nervously chewed on her lip before she added, "I think most of the other girls are in the Women's Room…"

He frowned at the way she mentioned the other girls, like there was no way he could possibly be there for her. "Well, looks like I'm in the right place then," quipped Oliver, "because I was actually looking for you."

She straightened up a little. "Really? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, of course," shrugged Oliver as he dropped into the armchair beside her. "What's that?" He gestured to the letter folded in her small hands. "News from home?"

Gabi smiled as she gave a shake of her blonde hair. "It's actually from Cassandra," she explained.

Oliver remembered that she'd been good friends with the eliminated Selected. "How's she doing?" he asked. "I heard through the grape vine that she got a seat with the orchestra back home."

"She loves it," Gabi explained brightly, "I don't think she possibly could've ended up happier."

He was glad to hear it. "Got any plans for the day?" Oliver asked. "I was hoping I'd be able to steal you away today."

"Yes!" She jumped to her feet and shoved the letter into the pocket of her skirt. "Now? Where are we going? Should I change?"

Oliver laughed as he stood up as well. After the suspicion that she'd regarded his arrival with, he was glad to see that her excitement had blossomed so quickly, as well as relived that he'd had the foresight to plan a full day. "I'm ready if you're ready," he grinned. "The weather is awesome today, so I thought we'd take a short flight up to Likely, maybe do some hiking, see if we can maybe tour some of the ca…"

It had been for the slimmest amount of time, but for a second, Gabi's freckled nose crinkled, and Oliver immediately trailed off, no longer glad that he'd tried to plan a whole day. "Or if there's something else that you wanted to do, we could totally do that," he offered weakly.

Gabi blushed, like she'd tried to contain her reaction. "No, no," she instantly countered, "It sounds great. I think it'll be really fun."

She was a terrible liar. "Really?" snorted Oliver.

She tugged at a strand of blonde hair before she admitted, "Well… I kind of thought it would be fun to just… I don't know, hang out around Angeles."

Oliver's eyebrows arched upwards in doubt. "Angeles?"

"Well, yeah," she shrugged. "We've been here for a few months now, and the only time I've been out in the province was during the drive from the airport to the palace."

It was something he hadn't given much thought to, but now that she mentioned it, Oliver realized she had a point. So far, only Rosalie and Mae had left the palace grounds since the official commencement of the Selection. "Okay," he agreed, "I mean, just saying, we'll probably see a lot of cute animals in Likely…" Gabi laughed but didn't change her mind, so he forced a smile and declared, "Alright. We'll have a staycation in Angeles today."

As they headed out to the car that was waiting for them, Oliver grew a little excited about their new plans. Admittedly, even _he_ didn't get to go out into the province too much. Angeles saw just about as much of the royal family as other places throughout the country did.

The excitement was curtailed when Jonathan almost broke a blood vessel at the news that their itinerary had been changed. His tone low enough that Gabi couldn't hear, Jonathan demanded, "Your Highness, 'change of plans' isn't exactly possible. It takes us _days_ to vet the people you'll meet, scan the area, determine what kind of security we'll need to take."

But when he'd explained the issue to Gabrielle, she didn't seem deterred. She gave a shrug of her small shoulders and suggested, "Why don't we wear disguises?"

It was a simple idea, but somehow, it worked. He'd never know if Jonathan actually approved or if he just didn't feel like fighting with Oliver, but once he and Gabi had both donned sunglasses and hats—a baseball cap for him, a floppy felt hat for her—Jonathan led them to their incognito car for the day. It was a rusted, beat up blue truck that smelled suspiciously of onions (he would learn later that it was used to deliver produce to the palace), but Gabi declared that it was brilliant and no one would ever suspect who they really were, so Oliver didn't protest.

Since Jonathan was the only one that would be directly accompanying the pair so as to not draw attention, they decided to stay relatively close to the palace. The town that surrounded the palace was one of Oliver's favorites. He had a feeling it might be a bit more picturesque than the standard Illéan town, but he didn't have much to compare it to.

Gabi, however, lit up when they exited the car. "It's so beautiful!" she declared, "Like something out of a fairytale." She turned to Oliver, her blue eyes shining. "Where to first?"

They decided to peruse the shops on Main Street as Jonathan trailed behind them. While their disguises certainly wouldn't win them any points for creativity, they seemed to accomplish their purposes, as no one so much as gave them a second glance.

"A little different from Sumner?" Oliver asked as they lingered outside a florist's shop so that Gabi could examine the rich fall flowers.

"Very," she laughed, "It's a lot hotter there. And dry. And kind of dusty, if we're being honest."

"It's weird that there are parts of the country I don't know too well," he mused as he watched her expertly construct a bouquet of red, yellow, and orange flowers. He noted that his mother would love it, as Eadlyn preferred to keep the palace stocked with fresh blooms throughout the year, although she was terrible at constructing the arrangements herself.

Gabi proudly inspected her work, and Oliver paid the shopkeeper before she could protest. "Do you want to travel?" she asked as they made their way down the cobblestone street. She paused to hand the bouquet off to an elderly woman who was walking down the street with her granddaughter, and the wide smile that the act caused crinkled the edges of Oliver's eyes.

He was so entranced by her that she had to repeat her question when she returned to his side. "Yeah," shrugged Oliver, "It's just hard. If I'm traveling, it's usually for work so I don't get to explore too much."

"Where have you been?" Gabi asked excitedly.

Oliver blew out a long breath. "Just about everywhere outside of the country," he admitted, "Sahara, France, Italy, Britannia, Iberia…"

"That sounds amazing," sighed Gabi. "I would love to be able to do that one day. My mom and I like taking little trips together, but usually, it's just around Sumner. We've been to Zuni, Paloma, and Tammins so far."

"Maybe she'll get to come visit you here in Angeles," Oliver added before he realized the full implication of his statement. The Elite's families would come to the palace, at some point, but he hadn't really talked to anyone about their position within the Selection up to this point.

Luckily, Gabi didn't linger on it. "I'd like that," was all she commented before she turned her attention to the jewelry store they were passing by. She paused in front of the window, and Oliver remembered that she designed jewelry back home.

"What's your professional opinion?" he asked.

"Beautiful," she admitted, "I'm not surprised Angeles has great jewelry though. I'm sure everyone here dreams that your mom will pass by and fall in love with one of their pieces one day."

Oliver snorted. "I don't think my mom has worn a new piece of jewelry since she got her wedding ring," he commented, "She tends to stick with the same old sort of things."

Gabi's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did you just call the crown jewels 'the same old things'?" she laughed. "Careful, Your Highness, your privilege is showing."

He rolled his eyes and pulled her away from the jewelry store. "Oh, we have to go see this lady," he decided, "Her name is Madam Anastasia. She's supposedly a psychic. When we were kids we used to love to go see her—Tristan, in particular, so be sure to make fun of him for that the next time you see him."

"Do you believe in psychics?" she asked as they made their way down the street.

"I don't know," he admitted, "It's a nice thought. A lot of kings have gotten into trouble by relying on them though, so I'm not about to promote her to my council or anything."

Gabi nodded thoughtfully. "Back home I'm sort of the town's unofficial matchmaker," she noted, "And people would ask me if I was psychic all the time, because I was really good at knowing when two people were interested in each other."

Oliver glanced over at her, intrigued. "Have you been holding out on me? Have you known how the Selection ends the whole time?"

"Hah. Not even close," countered Gabi. "I'm absolutely horrible where I'm concerned. Apparently, this boy back home had a crush on me from the time that we were eleven right up until I left for the Selection, and I never knew."

"Poor boy," sympathized Oliver, "I should have guessed that you were a heartbreaker."

Gabi looked insulted. "Why?" she demanded.

"All the pretty ones are," winked Oliver, and although she laughed, her cheeks flushed, and she looked pleased by the compliment. She swung their entwined hands a little more happily as they came upon Madam Anastasia's.

They waited on the sidewalk outside while Jonathan did a quick sweep of the shop, and when he reappeared and nodded that it was alright for them to follow, the two entered.

The eccentricity of Madam Anastasia's shop might have been what attractive Oliver and his siblings as children. It was always darker, the only light coming from a single, small chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and it was crowded with shelves lined with books, crystals, candles, and numerous other knickknacks. Madam Anastasia sat in a large, velvet green chair, outfitted in a patterned dress and fringed shawl. She looked older than the last time that Oliver had seen her—he'd gotten to the point in the past few years where he'd believed himself too cool to tag along with Tristan and Celine for readings—but her dark eyes were still sharp.

Even with their disguises, he had a feeling that Madam Anastasia recognized him. She didn't comment upon it, greeting them in her low, gruff voice: "Welcome."

The shop was too dark for them to keep their sunglasses on, so both Oliver and Gabi pocketed the glasses, though Oliver avoided Madam Anastasia's gaze just in case. "Hello," smiled Gabi politely, "May we?"

Madam Anastasia gestured to the two chairs across from her. A crystal ball sat atop the maroon clothed table between them, in addition to a stack of tarot cards. However, Madam Anastasia didn't reach for either. "What can I help you with today?"

Luckily, Gabi took point, because Oliver wasn't sure that he'd have the courage to ask a question. Obviously, there were things he wanted to know: what kind of king he would be, if he'd find his wife, if in twenty years his own children would be struggling with the weight of their birthright as he did. But he didn't think Madam Anastasia could give him these answers and didn't want to dwell on what she said one way or the other.

"I was just wondering," Gabi began, "how my mother's doing?"

After the question was proposed, Madam Anastasia leaned back in her chair. She turned a collection of crystals over in her hands as her eyes focused on a place beyond Oliver and Gabi. The pair exchanged nervous glances as they waited for the psychic to speak.

"She's very well," smiled Madam Anastasia as her eyes landed on Gabrielle. "She and your step father are very proud of you. Your initial goal for coming to Angeles has been accomplished. He speaks very highly of you and has told everyone at the hospital about his daughter."

While her answer didn't make much sense to Oliver, the impact that it had on Gabi was clear. Her face was clammy, and her eyes were a little watery. "Really?" she breathed.

Madam Anastasia nodded simply. Gabi seemed emboldened, and she blushed a little before she asked, "Will my mother be coming to Angeles?"

This time, Madam Anastasia's eyes focused on Oliver. After a few minutes of inspection, she nodded, "Oh yes."

Gabi tried to keep her reaction neutral, but her large smile gave her away. "Anything you're curious about?" she asked Oliver.

He shrugged, but both women had their gazes trained on him, so he racked his brain for something to ask. "Uh—I'm working on a pretty big project right now," he explained as he thought of the navy, "Is it going to pay off?"

This time, Madam Anastasia frowned. "The future is sometimes unclear," she began, "but at this moment, it appears that it will be necessary at some point throughout your career, and it will serve you well."

A deep frown settled on Oliver's face as he pondered the response. He reminded himself that he didn't believe in psychics, but his brain obsessively began trying to interpret what she meant. Did she see a war? Did she know which country would cause it? A shiver slid down his spine as he wondered if it would be the result of something he did, and he was just about to ask her to elaborate when she declared, "Is there anything else, my children?"

Before Oliver could speak, Gabi nodded and boldly inquired, "Who will the prince marry?"

Of all the questions that she'd been asked, Madam Anastasia hesitated on this one longest, which Oliver took as confirmation that she knew exactly who he was and caused him to puzzle over her response about the navy even more. This time, she set the crystals in her hand down and reached for the cloudy orb sitting between them. She stared intently into it for a long moment, during which Gabi and Oliver exchanged confused glances.

Finally, Madam Anastasia declared, "I see blonde hair. Blue eyes. A name that begins with an H, though I do not know whether it is first or last."

Gabi's jaw dropped, and Oliver heard the sharp gasp that Madam Anastasia's declaration elicited from the girl seated beside him. He knew exactly why she was so taken aback. Madam Anastasia's description did indeed fit two of the Selected: Isolde Havens or Gabrielle Huisken herself.

They both shook off the discomfort as they thanked the old woman. Gabi hurried out of the shop a moment later while Oliver lingered behind and pulled some money from his pocket. Madam Anastasia stopped him, putting her old, gnarled hands on his. "I wish you luck, Your Highness," she declared, "and urge you to trust your instincts. If ever I can be of any assistance to you, please do not hesitate to ask."

A wry smile tugged at Oliver's face. "Do you think I'm going to need a lot of help?" he asked, unable to stop himself.

The old woman's smile seemed conflicted, as though it was unsure of whether it was motivated by happy or sad emotions. "You will be happy for a time," she finally declared. "But hardships do not differentiate between royalty and the common."

Oliver left the psychic's store feeling as though a heavy cloud was following him. Gabi also looked a little bothered by the revelations that the psychic had given them, and the pair wandered the streets of Angeles aimlessly for a time.

He tried to discreetly inspect Gabi as they meandered along. She was certainly beautiful. The only girl that was smaller than her was Xylie, although Gabi didn't remind him so much of a child as Xylie did. Her blue eyes, one of her best features, were bright and twinkled with a vivacity that made Oliver happy to spend time around her, but they also held a note of maturity. They hadn't talked too much of her life before the Selection, but Oliver had a feeling that she'd known hardship and how to overcome it.

She would make a great queen, an asset to his reign no doubt. But he wanted more, to make sure that he was an asset to his own life as well.

"Hey," he interjected, "do you want to go to the beach or something?"

Gabi's face brightened, and the pair made a silent agreement to leave the troublesome psychic visit behind. "Yes."

The beach in Angeles was much different than the one that he had recently visited in Paloma with Mae. While the day was warm enough for them to be comfortable without jackets, the weather was beginning to cool in anticipation of winter, the water was much too cold to swim in, and a breeze danced along the coast. The sand was also different than that of a tropical climate: coarser with little pebbles and seashell pieces scattered throughout. If Gabi was at all disappointed that it didn't subscribe to the typical stereotype of a warm, sultry beach, Oliver couldn't tell.

They walked along the edge of the water hand in hand for a while before Oliver noticed a building a short distance away and excitedly got an idea. "So, that fear of heights still bothering you?" he asked.

Gabi giggled. "I don't want to disappoint you, but I don't think a water slide cured me for life or anything."

"Well, I am all about helping people," Oliver declared, "So what if we try again?"

"Oh, no," groaned Gabi, but she let him pull her along towards his desired destination.

She grew much less compliant when Oliver approached her with a saddled horse and a stable groom. "I am not getting on that," she immediately declared, arms crossed over her chest. Oliver shot her an amused smile, and she countered, "No, thank you, Oliver Schreave. I refuse, and your charming smiles are not going to change my mind this time."

He laughed. "You think my smiles are charming?"

She ignored him. "That thing's leg is taller than my entire body!"

"I'll be on it with you," he pointed out, "And Mario's leg definitely isn't as tall as my body." He patted the horse's neck.

She wasn't convinced. "Can't we just keep walking?" she suggested, "That was so much fun." She sounded quite convincing, as though there was nothing she would prefer more in the world than to keep wandering along on her own feet.

Oliver raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What happened to the girl who wanted to get out of the castle and have an adventure?" he teased.

"She took the first flight out of here the second you walked over with that two-ton beast."

"You're going to hurt Mario's feelings," Oliver admonished, "There's no way he weighs 4,000 pounds."

The groom nodded beside Oliver. "Of course not," he countered airily, "Mario only weighs 2,200 pounds."

For some reason that was completely undeterminable to Oliver, it appeared that Gabi didn't find this new piece of information much more comforting, and her protest was imminent once more when Oliver urged, "Just trust me, please, Gab?"

Whether it was his charming smile or the fact that her only exit strategy would be disappearing into the uncomfortably cool ocean, Gabi relented. "If we die, I'm going to kill you again in the afterlife," she declared as she stepped towards Mario the horse.

The most amusing part of the situation was that Mario was probably one of the most docile horses Oliver had ever encountered. He stood sedately as Oliver helped Gabi onto his back (a process that took about fifteen minutes and included one near panic attack), didn't protest when she grabbed two handfuls of his mane in panic, and needed to be thoroughly nudged by Oliver to pick up the pace to anything more than a calm walk. "Well?" asked Oliver as they made their way along the shore, this time from a much higher vantage point. "What do you think?"

"Is this what tall people feel like all the time?" mused Gabi.

"No," laughed Oliver, "Well, maybe if you're seven feet tall, which is probably about what we are right now."

"Guess I'll enjoy it while it lasts," she replied.

Oliver beamed. "Sorry, did you say you're actually having fun?" he gasped teasingly.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, have your I-told-you-so," she sighed.

"I think you meant, 'You are so smart and all-knowing, Oliver,'" he decided.

There was a snort from Gabi, as well as a well-timed one from Mario, which made the former laugh and caused Oliver to frown. "I don't appreciate being ganged up on," he told the two before he nudged Mario again, and they took off into a slow canter.

Gabi immediately made her disapproval of their increased speed known with a shriek. "No!" she countered as she grabbed another hand of Mario's mane and secured her other hand as tightly around the saddle's pommel as possible, "Slow down! We're gonna die!" Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as though it wasn't happening if she couldn't see it.

He tried to suppress his laugh and wrapped the arm that wasn't holding the reins around Gabi's waist more securely. "It's fine," he assured her, "I've got you. And I've only fallen off a horse… I don't know, less than ten times."

For some reason, she didn't find this comforting. "There's so much left for me to do," she bemoaned, "I can't be trampled by a giant today!"

This time, Oliver couldn't keep the laugh in. "Gab," he murmured, his mouth right by her ear so that she could hear her over the whistle of the wind, "Open your eyes."

It took a moment, and an encouraging squeeze from the arm around her waist before she finally relented in the slightest and dared to open one eye. A breath caught in her throat as they splashed through the surf, and finally, she opened the other eye. Oliver felt her body relax against his as Mario led them down the coastline.

"This is incredible," she finally sighed. Her right hand eased off the leather saddle, and she wrapped it around her waist over Oliver's. After a tentative moment, she requested, "Go faster."

Oliver complied, and Mario eased into a faster gait just as the tide came in, his powerful hooves sending a spray of cool water splashing up around them. A peal of laughter escaped Gabi as the pair were grazed by the water, and Oliver traded her Mario's leather leads so that he could wrap both arms around her (admittedly still using his legs to steer Mario more effectively than she did with the reins).

"This is like flying!" cheered Gabi as they raced along. "I love it!" He made a mental note to tease her later in light of how obstinately against the idea she had been but dropped it for now, enjoying the moment.

Eventually, Mario tired, and Oliver settled him back into a walk on the return to the stable. It was easier to talk at the slower pace, and Gabi beamed, "Thank you."

"For?"

She shrugged. "Encouraging me to try something new."

Oliver snorted. "More like forcing you, but okay."

"You need that sometimes," she decided, "Someone who will drag you out of your comfort zone, even if there is a little kicking and screaming involved."

Oliver smiled as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Well, thank you," he responded, "for trusting me."

She turned to meet his gaze, and her eyes were shining with intensity. "I always will," she responded, and Oliver didn't doubt it in the slightest. It was the kind of declaration that stirred a deep boil of emotion in his chest, and he tightened his grip around her as he kissed her.

Regardless of his reputation as a bit of a womanizer, Oliver had always valued first kisses. He thought that they were special, an instant assessment of whether the party in question should be let in. They were the times that he found it easiest to trust his instincts and his gut reactions.

Gabi made him happy. Kissing her shot a pulse of adrenaline through his body that caused him to smile against her lips. A part of him wished they weren't astride Mario so that he could pull her properly against him, but he settled for the contact that he was afforded, one hand gently dancing up and down her side as his mouth moved in time with hers. One of her hands reached back to gently touch his cheek, as though she needed to reassure herself that he was real, and this was happening.

Mario did a little hop in the water that caused an abrupt ending to their kiss and caused them to clunk heads together, but they both laughed it off. "Come on, Mario," Oliver chided the horse as he took the reins. "You're supposed to be a better wing man than that."

Gabi giggled. "Poor Mario."

"I think it's time that we ditch him," Oliver declared. She agreed, and with only a small amount of trouble, the pair dismounted and returned Mario to his stall.

They went to dinner at one of Oliver's favorite restaurants in Angeles, a small little Italian place with an outdoor patio that overlooked the water. The sun was still high enough in the sky that their sunglasses wouldn't be questioned, and there was enough room for Jonathan to linger discreetly at a table nearby.

"So this has been amazing," Gabi announced. "Now I see why everyone is so excited when they come back from dates with you."

Oliver laughed. "I try to set the bar high so that they're too far in by the time they realize how boring I really am," he explained teasingly.

Gabi bit her lip, as though she wasn't sure whether she wanted to voice what she was thinking, and she didn't until Oliver insisted. "I just think that you're really amazing," she admitted a little shyly. "I wasn't too sure what to make of you when I first got here, and it was all a little overwhelming, but I want this." A little more boldly, she added, "I want you."

It felt good to be wanted. To know for certain that there was something about him that another person valued. Suddenly Madam Anastasia's revelation didn't bother him as much, because he didn't think it would be a bad thing if Gabi was the one for him.

"Tell me about your life," he urged her. "I want to know everything."

Her eyes darkened slightly. "It's not all happy, you know."

"I don't think anyone's is," agreed Oliver.

So she told him. Her father had died when she was so young that she couldn't quite recall him, which had always been a delicate point for her. She and her mother, who was a well-known author, were incredibly close as a result, and her mother had remarried a kind man who provided for his family well. But he wasn't the father figure that Gabi had always hoped for, and she spent a large portion of her life trying to get him to pay attention.

"That's partially why I entered the Selection," she explained self-consciously.

"Have you talked to him since?" asked Oliver, frowning slightly. He'd always intended to be the most involved father possible when he had a family, and it hurt him to hear that others hadn't had the influences and support he'd had in his father and even his Uncle Ahren.

Gabi's face fell. She shrugged before she responded, "A small note once or twice. Mostly my mom just lets me know that he says hi."

Oliver tried to think of some way to cheer her up. "Well, if you believe Madam Anastasia, it sounds like things might be different between you guys now," he offered.

She laughed briefly. "Yeah, maybe." The hopefulness was obvious in her voice, and if there was anything that the psychic had gotten right, Oliver hoped it was this.

They talked about her life a little more, the way that people came to her for dating help back home. She said that some people had even paid her to set them up before, which they were both amused by, and Gabi explained that she loved helping people, even if it was just with their dating life. She was so sweet and caring that Oliver felt like an idiot for somewhat overlooking her so far.

They lingered at the restaurant for far too long before Jonathan glanced at Oliver and tapped his watch. Although the prince rolled his eyes, he informed her that their reprieve from their gilded cage as at an end.

As they headed back towards their dilapidated truck, Oliver kept Gabi close. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and her fingers were interlaced with the hand hanging from her shoulder, while the other snaked around Oliver's waist. Because they were so entangled in each other, she felt the way his body tensed as soon as he heard it.

"What's wrong?" Gabi instantly asked, her face showing her concern.

Oliver pulled away from her. "Hold on." This time, she didn't heed his instruction and hurried after him as he headed back to the town square.

The little cart caught his attention before he heard it again. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it earlier—or if the man had just arrived—but his stomach churned anxiously as he approached it. It was a bit too dark for his sunglasses, but he didn't dare take them off.

"All hail Alaric Illéa!" the man declared loudly, "Our _rightful_ king."

There were flyers all over the cart in support of Alaric. Oliver hadn't seen Regan's brother in a few years, but he looked relatively the same as he smiled up at Oliver from the picture. The photo showed him in the robes that he wore at the seminary that he trained at, and Oliver wondered how the picture had been procured.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Oliver asked the man, "Throwing your support behind someone who's not the prince so publicly?"

The man's eyes glinted. "I'm not doing anything wrong, am I?" he demanded. "I haven't made any threats against the pompous pretender." Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Jonathan's hand tighten around the place where his gun was concealed.

"I suppose not," Oliver agreed. "What's your quarrel with the prince?"

The man shrugged. "Never met him, but I just don't think he's the best choice. Not a fan of the queen's politics either, if we're being forthcoming. Besides, Marid Illéa says Alaric is a born leader."

Now Oliver was amused. "You've never met Alaric personally?"

The man shook his head. "He doesn't get out much, does he? Stays tucked away in that school of his."

"Ever think maybe that's because he doesn't want to be king?" Oliver asked as he picked up a pamphlet and perused it.

"Of course he does," countered the man gruffly. "Marid Illéa says he does, and why wouldn't he?"

Oliver glanced at the cart. "So, what's your aim here?" he asked, ignoring the man's question. "Just spreading the good word?"

The man nodded. "We've got a petition as well, if you wanted to sign."

Oliver repressed a laugh but pocketed the pamphlet. "No, I suppose that'd be a conflict of interest for me," he declined. "Good luck though, petitioning the Schreaves out of power." He left just as the man started proclaiming Alaric as the rightful ruler again.

"I should arrest him," Jonathan commented, his mouth in a hard line as the three made their way back to the car again.

"For what?" Oliver asked, "Terrible taste in reading material?" He lightly smacked Jonathan's arm with the flyer.

Jonathan glared. "This is serious," he countered. "You're going to tell your mother, aren't you?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Of course, Jonathan. Calm down."

Although he shook it off, he felt a little troubled as he slid into the cab of the truck with Gabi and Jonathan. She started talking about a movie that she'd seen with Kaitlyn last week, but Oliver was only half listening.

He'd never heard people talk about the prospect of anyone other than Tristan being king. He hadn't thought about it too much himself. In all honesty, the idea of the Schreave family being out of power didn't bother him. He had a feeling that his family would adapt just like anyone else.

What did bother him was what happened to deposed kings. If Alaric were put in charge, it would only be the result of Marid pulling the strings. Alaric didn't want to be king. He'd talked about entering the seminary for years and had studied theology in preparation for years. And if Marid had power, Oliver was very sure that it would bode poorly for his life expectancy.

Gabi had lapsed into silence, and Oliver sighed. "Not the note that I was hoping to end the day on," he frowned.

She took his hand. "Don't worry about it," she instructed him, "I had a great time today."

He smiled over at her. "I did too." She leaned into his side as they lapsed into an easy silence.

They were a mere ten minutes from the palace when Oliver got an idea. "Go left," he instructed Jonathan, causing his bodyguard turned driver to glare at him.

"You really want to go gallivanting after that?" Jonathan demanded.

"If we find another Alaric Illéa Support Group out here, we'll go home," Oliver offered.

Jonathan followed his instructions until they arrived at a small, lit up clearing. "What is—" Gabi's eyebrows furrowed as she took in the scene. "A carousel?"

Although it was empty, the ride was illuminated against the night and a soft instrumental music played over the speakers. "It was a gift from my parents to Celine for her seventh birthday, I believe," Oliver explained as they made their way towards the elaborate track of animals, lights and mirrors. "She wanted one so badly, but my mom thought it was an eyesore, so we put it in here, and anyone who happens upon it can use it."

"It's beautiful," smiled Gabi. "Do you want to take a ride?"

"Sure," shrugged Oliver. The pair boarded the slowly rotating ride, and Oliver took a seat on a white horse while Gabi picked the grey one beside him. The horses slowly moved up and down on the gilded gold rods that connected them to the carousel.

For a few minutes, they rode in silence until Gabi declared, "You know, I entered the Selection because I'd always had a crush on you."

"Oh yeah?" smirked Oliver. "So how have I lived up to expectations?"

The blue eyes locked with the hazel ones. "Exceeded them."

Oliver smiled and gently pulled her from her horse, and for the second time that day, they shared one. "I'm sorry it took me so long to take you out," Oliver apologized softly.

"It was worth the wait," beamed Gabi as she wrapped her arms around the prince's neck.

And in their second repeat of the day, Oliver and Gabi's lips met. Her kisses were soft and tentative, and she seemed a little intimidated by Oliver's confidence and pace, but she stayed in his arms until he pulled away.

"Time to get back to reality," he sighed. She giggled, and the pair returned to the truck and it's onion-y smell, this time until they were deposited at the front of the palace. Oliver walked Gabi back to her room, snuck one more kiss, and then headed to the royal family's wing.

The exhaustion hit Oliver as soon as he opened the door to his room. Overall, he'd had an amazing day, but he couldn't deny that it hadn't been without it's challenges. He thought of the man who was convinced that Alaric was the rightful king—something that was more troubling than people preferring Tristan to him—and Madam Anastasia was still heavy in his mind. It wasn't that she had planted doubts, per se, but it made him question a lot of things.

He lost his train of thought when he realized that his bedroom lights had been turned on prior to his arrival. "Anderson?" he called, frowning and a little apprehensive.

At the sound of his arrival, a lone figure stood up from his couch. "Tristan," Oliver realized, "What are you doing here? It's like eleven. Aren't you usually in bed by ten, grandma?"

Tristan tried to laugh, but the sound died in his throat, and it came out more like a strangled choke. "Uh, how was your date?" he asked nervously.

Oliver glanced suspiciously at his brother as he poured himself a glass of scotch to ease the pain that was already blossoming in his legs from riding the giant horse, Mario. "It was great," he admitted, "Gabi's great. I had this whole thing planned, but she just wanted to hang out around Angeles, so we did, and it was awesome."

Tristan nodded, but Oliver wasn't sure if his brother had heard a word that he was saying. "Are you okay?" Oliver frowned, "You look a little… I don't know, feverish."

"Do I?" asked Tristan as he rolled up the sleeves of his button up. "I don't know, yeah, maybe it's a little hot in here."

"Well, open a window," Oliver suggested, "I don't want you passing out on the floor or anything. Mom never believes that it's not my fault when something happens to you."

Tristan laughed weakly but complied. "Uh, hey, Oliver," he began, still turned towards the window. Oliver's eyes narrowed as he inspected his brother. Tristan's knuckles were white from gripping the window ledge, and his head hung as he stared out into the blackness of night. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Is everything okay?" Oliver asked cautiously.

There was a long, heavy silence. "Tristan?" Oliver frowned. "Do you need me to grab a doctor?"

"No." The insistence in his voice was strong, and when Tristan turned to him, he suddenly looked much calmer and sure. "I just need you to hear me out."

Oliver nodded, the edges of his glass protesting against the nervous grip he applied to it. "I'm all ears," he offered.

Tristan met his eyes, and he realized that he'd never seen his brother look quite so serious. Certainly, Oliver's nervousness was hardly quelled by the fact that the last instance that even came close was when Tristan had offered to abdicate after the Evelyn situation. He almost asked if Tristan was sure he didn't need a doctor but stopped himself as he remembered his agreement to listen. Finally, Tristan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The large clock that hung above Oliver's fireplace ticked twenty times before Tristan exhaled. When the green eyes opened, they were peaceful but determined. In stark comparison to Tristan's newfound tranquility, Oliver waited on bated breath, his own hands slick with nervousness. Nothing could have prepared him for what his younger breath said next, the words acting like a sharp knife to Oliver's chest:

"I've committed treason."


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** This chapter is so long, so please, grab a snack, a drink, a blanket, maybe a neck pillow, something. This is one of the first plot points I ever decided on, so I am incredibly excited to see it come to fruition. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks again for the continuous support :)

* * *

There were certain buzzwords that lit a royal's ears on fire and sent panic coursing through their veins—words that they never wanted to hear spoken by someone that they cared for. Aside from regicide and coup, treason was arguably the worst on this small but dangerous list.

Fear for himself would have been a self-preserving prince's initial reaction, but it only came much later after Oliver fully digested Tristan's declaration. At first, he'd been too shocked to move or do anything, even try to save the glass of liquor that slipped from his hand and caused a small explosion at his feet. Even as the scotch wet his socks, Oliver remained rooted to the spot.

 _Treason_.

Even when the first wave of fear arrived, it wasn't for himself. Yes, treasonous acts were regarded as a direct attack on the monarchy, but Oliver had bigger worries than himself.

The panic turned to ice in his veins, and his instincts were the only thing that sent Oliver into motion. Immediately, he spun around his room, his eyes darting over the numerous places that a person could conceal themselves. He tore through his closet, pulling clothes from their hangers every so often to be sure that it was empty. He dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. He paced his study twice to ensure that it too was vacant.

Tristan only joined him when his search turned to the bathroom. "What on earth are you doing?" his younger brother demanded, his face equal parts perplexed and annoyed. "I just told you that I committed—"

"Shh!" He slapped his hand over Tristan's mouth. It was bad enough that his idiot brother had confessed to such a thing, let alone dare to repeat it. Even all of Oliver's power couldn't help him if someone had heard Tristan's thoughtless revelation. Treason demanded blood, and nothing would excite a frenzied mob more than royal blood.

"What are you doing?" repeated Tristan, this time in an exaggerated whisper.

"Making sure no one heard your dumb mouth," declared Oliver. He slammed his linen closet shut and turned to his brother, his eyes hard as they examined him. He sighed wearily. This was probably how Tristan felt any time that Oliver came to him to help clean up his messes (which was fairly often). He led his brother back into his room and offered him a glass of liquor, which Tristan surprisingly accepted. "What's going on? Have you told mom or dad?"

Tristan paled. "I can't," he croaked as he shook his head, "I had to come to you first." He drained the better half of his glass.

For a moment, Oliver thought of when he and Tristan had been children. While it wasn't public knowledge, at one time the two brothers had been the best of friends. More so, they'd been partners in crime. There had been a time when Tristan had believed that his older brother could solve any problem. Oliver nonsensically thought of when Tristan had knocked his mother's wedding ring down the drain of her bathroom sink and he'd spent the better part of the morning on his stomach on the counter fishing it out with a wire while Tristan dutifully held a flashlight for him. He almost smiled at the memory until he realized this was much bigger than a wedding band, and it wasn't something he could fix with mere resourcefulness.

Yet being the eldest sibling instilled a protectiveness that reared its head and caused Oliver to nod resolutely. He would fix this, he decided. "Does anyone know?" he asked thoughtfully.

"One other person," Tristan admitted. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched Oliver disappear into his study. The younger brother followed, his confusion growing when he saw Oliver at his desk with a rectangular, leather bound book his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Will a million keep them quiet?" Oliver queried as his pen danced across the check. In all of his lessons with his mother and grandfather, they'd never specifically said not to bribe someone, so he figured it was an available tool.

Tristan sputtered. "You can't pay her off!" he countered, "Besides, where are you even going to _get_ a million dollars?"

Feigning nonchalance, as he admittedly hadn't thought that far into the future, Oliver declared, "I'll just siphon it off of a few of areas. God knows I've been staring at budget reports long enough to know where we can spare it, and if I cut back on Seymour's funding for research for a while—"

He froze as he thought about Tristan's words, the pen halting just before he signed the check. The knot of concern loosened in his chest, melting into a simmering pot of anger. "Her?" Oliver repeated, his hazel eyes ablaze.

His expression hardened as he slowly rose from his seat. "What have you done?"

Tristan's eyes betrayed him before he could even speak. It was only for the briefest moment, but Oliver saw them jump to a picture on the mantle. It was a new one that Patricia had taken at the Harvest Festival after the three-legged race that showed Oliver with an arm draped lightly around Isolde's shoulders as they beamed at each other.

And suddenly, Oliver felt like such an idiot. It all made sense. Why he always spotted them together. Why Tristan offered to go to the group dates. Why he knew so much about her. Why she had wanted to leave. All of the snide remarks that the girls had made about her sneaking around. All of the jokes, looks, laughs that they always shared, as though they were the only two people in the room.

"Isolde?" His voice sounded hollow and cracked as the simmering anger flared as though gasoline had been tossed on it. Before he could even think to restrain himself, his hands grasped the front of Tristan's shirt as he shoved his brother against a wall. "What, the love of the whole country wasn't enough for you?" he demanded roughly.

Tristan tried to shove Oliver away, but while he was taller, Oliver was still stronger. "Oliver, please, let me explain."

Oliver ignored him. "Did the two of you have a good laugh while I was trying to make her fall in love with me?" he challenged as he thrust Tristan against the wall again. "Was it fun sneaking around behind the blind idiot's back?"

Although there was a spark of fear in his eyes, Tristan had the audacity to look offended, which Oliver thought was a little bold, all things considered. "No!" he insisted, "I swear, it was nothing like that! I-I've tried to fight it, Oliver, but—"

Oliver laughed humorlessly. "Well, you've done a real bang up job!" he shouted as he pushed Tristan away. The desire to punch him in the face had grown too substantially as the weight of the betrayal sunk in.

He glared fiercely at Tristan. "You're my _brother_. Why would you do this?"

Tristan was quiet. For a moment, he looked appropriately ashamed as his eyes dropped to the ground. But when he met Oliver's gaze once more, his face was defiant. "I love her."

Perhaps Tristan expected Oliver to be convinced by his declaration, but the older sibling scoffed. "You're eighteen," countered Oliver, still seething, "You've never had a girlfriend, never experienced anything. You don't know what love is."

Before Oliver could really get his dismissive speech rolling, Tristan cut him off. "I'm _in_ love with her," he declared as he took a step closer to his brother, challengingly. Although the anger that contorted his face didn't disappear, Oliver was silent for a moment as he examined Tristan. The younger prince pressed on:

"You asked me the very first day about them, and that was the moment that I realized it. She's incredible. I love her for her intelligence and her passions. I love the way she smiles whenever Pawnds jumps onto her lap, even though she pretends not to like cats. I love that she's adventurous and has dreams bigger than anything I could've ever imagined. I love the way that her face lights up whenever someone walks into the room, like she's just seen her favorite person in the world. I love the way she pulls her hair up when she's serious about something she's working on. I loved her from the moment that I saw her."

Whether it was jealousy or resentment, Oliver was unsure, but the nasty feeling coursed through him. "Do you love the way that she's stayed in the Selection?" he asked. "My dear, sweet, stupid baby brother. Do you realize she's been playing you just as well as me?"

To his surprise, Tristan smiled. "Do you think she'd be here if I hadn't begged her to stay?" he challenged.

And Oliver realized, with a sinking feeling, that Tristan was right. He thought of all the times Isolde had tried to leave, and he'd attempted to convince her to stay. How foolish he had been to think that he'd ever be able to persuade someone as confident and sure as Isolde to do something she didn't want to. She had never stayed for him. She'd stayed for Tristan.

The thoughts swirled around in his confused mind. He kept returning to the memory of the pool party. _"I just don't think you and I are compatible,"_ she had said. But hadn't that been before? Hadn't things changed? Maybe what they had wasn't as magical as whatever Tristan believed he had with her, but he couldn't just let Isolde go. She made him better. She was one of the first people to make him realize that the person he had been wasn't who he wanted to be.

"Oliver," Tristan tried again, his voice soft, "I never wanted to hurt you. But I knew that I couldn't let you stand up on _The Report_ and declare her an Elite. If it gets me caned or thrown in jail or exiled… then so be it. But I couldn't let this pass me by, because she is the person my soul has been looking for in this life and any others."

And suddenly, Oliver felt drained. He had no more anger, no more snide remarks. Because he _got_ it. Wasn't that what he was looking for? The person that his soul knew, and would know, in any life time? That was the sort of love he wanted, and how could he deny Tristan and Isolde such a thing?

The truth wasn't something that was easy for Oliver to admit to himself. He loved Isolde, of course. He trusted her advice, to have his best interests at heart, and to make him smile when he felt like the world was against him.

But he wouldn't send everyone home for her, now or at any near moment in the future. He wasn't _in_ love with her and never would be. He was beginning to realize there was a distinct discord between his head, which saw everything that Isolde was and what she could bring to his life, and his heart, which needed something more.

"Sit down," he ordered Tristan. His younger brother stared apprehensively at him for a moment before he obeyed. Oliver crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses, this time not asking Tristan if he'd like one. When he pressed the glass into his brother's hand and took a seat beside him on the couch. "So… you really like her, huh?"

Tristan looked amused. "I would marry her tomorrow," he responded, and although his tone was more relaxed, his eyes shone with sincerity.

Oliver swished the scotch around his mouth for a minute, using the sting to clear his mind. "I can send her home tonight," he offered. "Then, maybe in a year or so, the two of you can publicly…"

He trailed off when he noticed the devastation that washed over his brother's face. Tristan tried to mask it quickly, swallowing too much of his scotch so that he had to grimace to choke it down. "Yeah," he nodded. "That would be…" He frowned, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

If Oliver had to guess, he thought that 'torturous' might be the word that Tristan was looking for. Despite all of the anger and betrayal that he had felt, if Tristan truly loved Isolde the way that he said, Oliver imagined that the prospect of being separated for any amount of time must've seemed unbearable.

They sat in silence for a minute as they each sipped their drinks. Oliver used the alcohol to focus his fuzzy brain, while Tristan, he suspected, attempted to dull the ache of their imminent separation. He wished it was in his power to grant them their happiness, but Oliver supposed the most he could do was shield them from treason charges by denying any speculation about the pair.

There were few times that he felt truly helpless as a prince, but this was one of them. He couldn't prevent someone from preferring his brother. He couldn't even spare his brother what he was sure would be the longest year of his life. He was the crown prince, and he was absolutely powerless.

Until suddenly, everything clicked. He thoughtfully stared into his now empty glass as conflict swirled within him. "Would you really marry her tomorrow?" he asked with a small chuckle.

"Yeah," Tristan smiled simply. And that was all. No reservations or stipulations. Just a yes.

It was enough to end Oliver's internal debate and prompt him to set his crazy plan into action. "That's a little out of my control," he acknowledged, "but how would you settle for getting engaged?"

Tristan raised an understandably suspicious eyebrow. "How much scotch have you had tonight?"

"Not nearly enough," noted Oliver as he stood for a refill. "Now are you going to answer my question or not?"

Tristan bolted up and followed Oliver to the liquor cabinet. "Are you serious?" he demanded, his face still apprehensive.

Oliver was serious but also certain that he must've been at least partially crazy to have formed the plan that had slowly unraveled in his mind. "I'll need something from you first," he admitted. "And this isn't necessarily going to be easy."

"You're not messing with me, are you?" Tristan frowned.

"No," Oliver laughed, "I'm serious. But listen up before you agree, I'm not just asking for a casual favor here."

So he laid out his thought process for his brother, carefully observing the changes on Tristan's face as he explained. In truth, Oliver was asking for a lot. But when the elation spread over Tristan's face, and he excitedly agreed, Oliver exhaled a sigh of relief. "There'll be official paperwork," admitted Oliver, "but for now, I'm counting your 'yes' as binding."

"So when are we setting all of this into motion?" asked Tristan as he excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet.

Oliver glanced over his shoulder at the large clock above the mantle that showed 11:30 PM. "How's now?" he suggested.

The expression that served as Tristan's response looked like an odd cross between elation and nausea. He seemed a little clueless as to where to start, so Oliver ordered, "Go find the jeweler. There were thirty-five rings made before the Selection, so just pick whichever. I'll talk to mom and dad."

Before he could leave, Tristan called after him. He stared at Oliver for a long moment before he shrugged simply. "Thank you."

It was all that could be said between the problems. Tristan would never be able to adequately express what his brother had given him, and Oliver would have been uncomfortable if he'd tried. For a moment, Oliver remembered how six-year-old Tristan had cried and hugged him when Eadlyn's ring had surfaced from the depths of the drain before the world had decided to pit the Schreave boys against each other.

Oliver smiled tightly. "I love you, Tristan."

He wondered if Tristan was thinking of some childhood memory when they'd been partners as well. "I love you too, Ol."

And then they turned in separate directions towards their own missions. Oliver wasn't sure who he was more nervous for—Tristan, who was about to propose to someone, or himself, who had the thankless job of explaining the situation to his parents.

As he made his way to the king and queen's suite, Oliver prayed to every higher being he could think of that his mother had yet to return to the castle. Kile had always been easier to talk to about emotional situations, particularly ones that had political implications.

But when Eadlyn appeared at the door, Oliver had never been so disappointed to see his mother. "Darling," she smiled widely. She opened the door and beckoned him in. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, didn't know you were back," he frowned.

"Oh, I just got back about half an hour ago," explained Eadlyn airily. She led him into their sitting room, where Kile lounged on the couch with a sketchbook in his lap.

"Hey, Ollie," nodded his dad. "What's up?"

"Nothing," countered Oliver instantly, "Nothing's up. What would be up?" He tried to laugh off his discomfort, but both of his parents frowned at him. Kile set his sketchbook aside, and Eadlyn closed her eyes to count to ten, which was her typical routine when she was attempting to prepare herself for Oliver's antics.

Since they were already suspicious, Oliver figured there was no use trying to ease into the situation. "Why don't you sit down?" he suggested to his mother. She glared at him. "Ooookay. Well, then, I kind of came here to talk to you about… a thing."

Kile stood up and put a hand on his wife's back, as if they could somehow pool their strength through physical contact. "What kind of 'thing'?" he demanded.

Every public speaking skill and ounce of eloquence that Oliver had ever had disappeared as he blurted out, "Tristan'sproposingtoIsolderightnow."

In some ways, the reaction was better than he'd expected. Eadlyn didn't immediately order her guards to seize her sons and the Daughter of Illéa.

But if he was being perfectly honest, he'd never heard his mother's voice sound quite so shrill as when she demanded, "WHAT?"

He figured that he probably should've provided context, so he eased her onto the couch before he took a seat across from them and launched into the tale. He told them about Tristan's revelation, their brief fight, the depth of his brother's feelings, and finally, how he'd offered up one of the Selection rings. He carefully concealed the additional matter that he and his brother had discussed, something that he wanted to reveal when the time was right. He watched his parents' faces carefully through the story as their expressions vacillated between shock, excitement, confusion, and horror, particularly in his mother's case.

Eadlyn jumped to her feet as soon as Oliver finished. "We have to stop him," she declared determinedly. To Oliver's surprise, Kile nodded his agreement.

"Wait, what?" frowned Oliver. "Did you just miss the whole soulmates bit?"

Eadlyn sounded frantic when she explained, "Oliver, _you can't do this_. If you endorse your brother's relationship with one of _your_ Selected, not only do you look weak, but you give Tristan a new source of power that you can't afford for him to have."

Oliver's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, momentarily electing to ignore the comment about looking weak, "He's my brother, mom. What am I supposed to do?"

"This is _treason_ ," she hissed.

Kile put a hand on her shoulder, which silenced her for a moment. He turned a sad gaze to Oliver and sighed, "She's right. Marriage means securing the bloodline. If Tristan has an heir before you, it's just another reason for people to rally behind him."

"You would be legitimizing his claim by tenfold!" interjected Eadlyn, her face white. "Darling, I know what it's like to be young and shortsighted, but I cannot let you do this."

Irritation ignited within Oliver once more. "You're always telling me to step up and be a ruler," he argued, "So I am. _They're in love_ , which is what this whole stupid Selection is supposed to be about. I don't think anyone will be able to fault me when I support their engagement on _The Report_ tomorrow night."

Eadlyn's face was hard. "And what will you do when Tristan's supporters storm the palace to place him on the throne?" she asked in a cold voice. "I've been out there, Oliver, I've heard the people."

"That won't happen," he countered.

Eadlyn pressed a hand over her eyes. "Kile, tell him," she urged exasperatedly.

And Kile, who always tried to be a parent before a ruler, sighed as he met his son's eyes. Oliver could see that his dad's resolve was weakening, even as he explained, "You could endanger your entire reign. Your life. Oliver, kings who are cast aside don't get to live in anonymity."

Oliver ignored the cold shudder that dripped down his back. "This is my decision," he stated, "I hope that the two of you would support not only me but Tristan and Isolde, more importantly."

When Eadlyn finally opened her eyes again, she looked practically expressionless. "My darling, I love you, but you forget that you are not yet king," she informed him, "And as Queen, I must grant permission before any of the first five in line to the throne may marry."

Both Kile and Oliver froze at her words. It was a stipulation that Oliver had forgotten. Even in his Selection, before he could ask any girl to marry him, formal permission from the queen was a requirement in order for the union to be legitimate. It had been the same for his uncles Kaden and Osten when they had proposed to their respective partners, and Tristan and Celine, as second and third in line, also fell under this jurisdiction.

But it was never something that Eadlyn had threatened him with before. Even when he had hoped to marry Regan, Oliver had thought that it was just a technicality and that his mother would ultimately concede to whomever he loved. He felt a little sick as he declared, "If you deny him this… it won't just be Tristan you have to answer to. You will lose _both_ of your sons."

He was encouraged by the fear and sadness flicker across her face. Perhaps it meant that he wasn't fighting a losing battle. "Eady…" interjected Kile.

Tears filled the dark haired woman's eyes, and she shook her head fiercely at the resignation in her husband's voice. "I am trying to protect you both," she insisted, her frustration evident.

For a moment, Oliver felt guilty, especially as he remembered the flier in support of Marid Illéa that was tucked in his back pocket. Despite his assurance to Jonathan that the queen would be informed, he realized the Illéan threat was one that he would have to fight on his own if he was to get Eadlyn to support Tristan. "Mom… I'm not a little kid anymore," he tried, "I'm not even the same person I was a few months ago. I'm serious about being king, but if this is the first monumental decision that my reign is faced with, I need to be on the right side of this."

She didn't look entirely convinced, and though he'd hoped to make this announcement on _The Report_ , he had a feeling it was time to break out the point that legitimized his entire position. "Tristan's agreed to do something for me as well," he declared.

"And what's that?" demanded Eadlyn.

As he explained, the hard lines of her face slowly began to soften. When he finished, she still didn't look necessarily happy, although Kile seemed fully on board. "I think it's a great idea," he declared.

" _If_ it works," countered Eadlyn, ever the skeptic.

Oliver took Eadlyn's hands. "Mom, if Grandfather would've done what you're trying to make me do to Grandpa Carter and Grammy Marlee, Dad wouldn't be here, and you could have an absolute nerd for a kid instead of someone as great as me," he pointed out.

"I likely wouldn't have a stress induced ulcer either," she countered.

Oliver ignored that comment, although she probably had a point. "Trust me, please," he requested. "Everything is going to work out."

Her brown eyes held her sons for a long moment before she exhaled. "Alright," she acquiesced. "I trust you. I just hope that you're right about all of this." Before Oliver could celebrate for more than a moment, though, she returned to queen-mode:

"Call Hale, wake Lady Samantha, and tell Isolde to meet us in the atelier. Then you need to draft your speech for _The Report_ and have Lady Neena look over it tomorrow, as well as have an agreement for Tristan to sign about his position. Kile, I want you to meet with Coen so we're on the same page about how the show will run tomorrow, a list of questions he can ask, Selected that are safe for him to speak with, that sort of thing."

Kile and Oliver nervously exchanged glances. "Uh, can't we wait until morning, Eady?" suggested Kile, and Oliver was quite sure he'd never felt such gratitude towards his father as his own exhaustion washed over him.

His hopes for sleep were quickly dashed when Eadlyn turned a defiant expression on them. " _I'm_ not the one who set everything into motion at 1 AM," she declared as she looked pointedly at Oliver. "Let this be a lesson in urgency for you, darling."

It turned out that there was a lot more to do to prepare for a royal engagement than Oliver had initially suspected. While Oliver attempted to write his speech, his study was also overtaken by a group of advisers and legal experts, all spearheaded by Miss Neena. In addition to coming up with an agreement that centered around the favor that Oliver had requested of his brother, the group was tasked with the job of tailoring the preexisting prenuptial agreement that had been approved before the Selection had started to Tristan and Isolde.

Although Oliver didn't get a chance to talk to Tristan in the hours that followed as he poured over a frustratingly blank piece of stationary, the flurry of activity in the royal family's wing was enough of an indication as to Isolde's response. Even Everly and Celine had been rallied for the cause, both joining their mother and the future princess in the atelier.

The official matters that demanded his attention prevented him from thinking too much of how he felt about the situation. The speech that was supposed to be his chief concern was torturous. No matter how many times Oliver tried to twist the words or read them over, nothing seemed to adequately excuse, support, and convey what he was thinking. He halfheartedly handed over three different drafts to Lady Neena before they managed to piece something together that wasn't complete garbage.

When he was finally released around five, it sounded like most of the immediate hustle and bustle had died down. He'd sent Anderson to bed hours earlier, and his room was eerily silent after the flurry of activity. Despite the exhaustion that Oliver had fought through all night, as soon as he tried to lay down, his brain felt full wired, not ready to relinquish its grip on consciousness just yet.

He tossed and turned for a mere fifteen minute before he sighed in defeat and slipped on a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt. While the royal floor had fallen silent, the atelier was still a tornado of industry as Hale worked on creating a princess worthy dress overnight. He slipped silently past the room—sure that he and his brother, the primary causes of all of the rushing and stress, were public enemies number one and two anyway at the moment.

He let his feet absentmindedly lead him out to the gardens. The morning was chilly, a light dew clinging to the grass, but it was the start of a beautiful new day. The sun had yet to rise, but the darkness of night had given way to a lighter lilac colored sky in anticipation of the morning's shocking pinks and oranges.

Oliver wasn't surprised when he found himself at his favorite fountain. The gardens as a whole were spectacular, but Oliver had always thought this particular area a cut above the rest. It was enormous, one of the largest, which made sense as he'd always had a penchant for extravagance. A single granite figure rose from the very center, likely a classical interpretation of some ancient Greek goddess; Oliver had never quite been sure who it was supposed to be. From her pedestal erupted four jets of water that tumbled into still basic below. A few lilies glided on top, carefully avoiding the miniature waterfalls.

Another reason he'd always been particular about this fountain was that it was largely unbothered. There weren't bushes and flowers crowding it like most of the others. He lowered himself onto the grass and leaned back against the cool stone, sighing deeply. The water created a gentle rhythm that lowered a heart rate he hadn't realized had been thundering.

In some way, he was equally unsurprised when he noticed a lone figure approaching. It seemed appropriate that he and Isolde had begun at the fountain and would end there as well.

She was dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. A pair of sandals were on her feet, as though she'd just thrown on the first shoes she'd found, and she looked exhausted. She paused a few feet away from him and nervously shifted her weight between her feet, her hands shoved in the pockets of her sweats. After a moment of hesitation, she tentatively offered, "Hi."

Oliver smiled, despite the slight awkwardness filling the space between them. "Hi."

She stared down at her feet, as though unsure of what to say. Feeling generous—or maybe just delirious—Oliver asked, "Want to sit down?"

Isolde nodded and joined him, sliding down against the fountain at his side. It was easier when they didn't have to look directly at each other, both focused on the grass around them. "I thought you would be here," Isolde admitted.

Oliver smiled in amusement. "Were you looking for me?"

Although she tried to laugh, when Isolde glanced over at him, Oliver discovered that her eyes had filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled dangerously. Unsure of what else to do, Oliver panicked and pulled her into his chest, which caused a strangled sob to escape. "What's the matter?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm so sorry," was all that she could manage while trying to keep her tears at bay.

Oliver tried for casualty. "Don't be," he retorted nonchalantly, "I've gotten myself into worse messes with a single bottle of Scotch." No response. He sighed and rubbed her arm in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "Want to tell me what's bothering you?"

"I never meant for any of this to happen," sighed Isolde. "I don't want you to think that this was my goal when I came here or that I'm using Tristan or that it's anything that you did. I just…"

Beside her, Oliver smiled. "You know the first day I asked my brother who the best looking girl was?"

"Of course you did," snorted Isolde. Her tone had an evident air of _nothing-that-you-do-surprises-me-Oliver_. It was a common inflection among those who knew the prince well.

"He said you," Oliver confided. The amused smile fell from Isolde's face. "Called you 'classically beautiful' or something equally cheesy."

"Sounds like Tristan," noted Isolde. Just as she reserved a special sort of exasperated tone for Oliver, the affection in her voice when she spoke of Tristan was undeniable.

Against his better judgment, Oliver requested, "Will you tell me about it?" One of the feelings that had plagued him the last few hours had been a jealousy that he hadn't been able to shake. It wasn't that he wanted Isolde. He wanted what Tristan and Isolde had.

She smiled, and he could feel him relax in his arms. "He was one of the first people I met, aside from the girls that I flew in with," she explained. "I was getting highlights and had all of this ridiculous aluminum foil in my hair the first time we met."

Oliver couldn't pass up the chance to tease her. "Highlights? And here I thought you were unfazed by the glitz of royal life."

"An icy blonde is hard to get," retorted Isolde, "I figured palace stylists were a safe bet. Anyways, are you gonna let me tell the story?" Oliver apologized, and she pressed on. "So I looked absolutely crazy, and I was sitting beside Adelaide and Patricia, and I saw Tristan slip into the room, and…"

"And?" prompted Oliver.

She shrugged. "I just felt calm," she explained, "Completely at home. The other girls were having a heart attack when he came over to talk to us, but I think I knew from that first moment that I saw him, at least subconsciously. I didn't really say it out loud until around the time of the whole Irina cover story. I think that's why I was such a mess the night of the dinner cruise. I'd tried to tell myself that we were just friends, but once I knew how I felt about him… the thought of a world where we couldn't be together broke my heart."

Oliver frowned. "You were never going to fall in love with me."

"I tried," she admitted, "I would have been lucky to. You really are an incredible person, Oliver."

There was a heavy silence before Isolde offered, "I'll never be able to repay you for this. Tristan can be a bit idealistic, but I doubt that your mother was very excited when you told her about everything."

Oliver snorted. "Not exactly. She'll come around though. I think she's always liked you too, so that helps."

Isolde smiled. "She's been very kind," she noted, "She's loaned me a tiara to wear for the announcement."

A tight smile tugged at Oliver's mouth. "You ready for this?" he asked. "It's not all glitz and glamor, you know."

She didn't even need a moment to think it over before she nodded. "I can see what a sacrifice it can be for your family at times," she admitted, "but I'd trade anything for Tristan. I just… I need you to know, Oliver, that if I've hurt you, I'm sorry. That was never my intention."

He smiled and dropped an arm around her shoulders. "I know," he sighed, "I'll be okay. I think it's just a wounded ego."

"Luckily your ego is large enough that you can afford for a portion to be out of commission for a moment," she quipped as she put an arm around his waist as well.

"Well," Oliver exhaled, "are you gonna show me the ring, or do I have to wait with the rest of the world?"

Isolde laughed and pulled her left hand out of her pocket. On her ring finger glinted a simple, sparkling ring: a gleaming, flawless (likely literally as well as figuratively), pear shaped diamond mounted upon a band of tiny, equally sparkling diamonds glinted upon her ring finger. It was beautiful yet simple and classic, absolutely perfect for Isolde.

"Wow," whistled Oliver.

"I know," she nodded. "This is really happening."

"Just as a disclaimer," smirked Oliver, "I'd just like to let you know that I fully intend to be the fun uncle that completely spoils all of my nieces and nephews."

He was met with a peal of laughter in response. "Alright, calm down," she countered, "I haven't even be engaged for a full twenty-four hours yet."

"You're right," nodded Oliver, "There's still time to escape."

"Not a chance," Isolde declared, "The Woodwork-Schreaves are stuck with me for life."

The conversation was one that they'd needed to have, and Oliver felt more relaxed as he sat with his future sister-in-law. "I think I could get used to that," he decided. At that moment, the sun broke over the horizon, causing an explosion of warm pinks, yellows, and oranges to illuminate the horizon, and reminding Oliver of the time. "I should get to bed," he realized, "Apparently I have a pretty big announcement to make on _The Report_ tonight." Isolde beamed in excitement but agreed, and the pair returned to the castle together.

By some miracle, Oliver managed to get a couple hours of sleep. Anderson woke him at eight and informed him that the queen had requested his presence at breakfast, which Oliver was convinced was Eadlyn's sick way of punishing him for the stress that he'd put her through the night before. Nonetheless, he'd pulled himself out of bed and dragged himself downstairs.

When he entered the dining room, he discovered that both Tristan and Isolde had been excused. While his brother's absence was taken in stride, as the royals occasionally had other duties to attend to, several of the girls looked concerned by Isolde's absence. Kaitlyn's brow remained furrowed all throughout breakfast, and she nervously knocked things over more often than usual. Mae, for her part, tried to catch his eye several times throughout breakfast and even tried to stop him before he left, but as bad as Oliver felt for making them worry, he thought it was important for the Selected to learn about the situation in its full context with the rest of Illéa.

He stayed busy throughout the day, as all of the documents that had been drawn up in the early hours of the morning needed to be signed and sealed. It was boring and wearisome to sit with his parents, Tristan and Isolde as the documents were read aloud in detail, and several times, Oliver dazed off and had to be reminded to stamp his signet ring into the hot wax before it dried. When he was finally released from the monotony, it was only to get ready for the show.

When they all collected in the small room off of the stage, Oliver's nerves had fully caught up to him. He was dressed in a flattering new black suit with his heavy crown placed atop his messy brown curls, but inside he didn't feel nearly as put together. He was afraid that he was going to forget the speech that he'd been rereading all day, that his mother was right and the country was going to rise up against him, or even worse, that the Selected were all going to feel angered or cheated and leave.

In comparison to Oliver, Tristan couldn't stop smiling when he swept into the room. After months of being dressed down at Eadlyn's bequest, he was dressed in a dark charcoal colored suit, the jacket buttoned formally as he preferred, and though Oliver had yet to see her, he would've bet the crown jewels that Tristan's blue tie matched Isolde's dress perfectly. A simple, silver crown encircled his head—which Tristan only ever wore for important events—and he had just finished securing Oliver's second favorite pair of cuff links at his wrist when he joined his older brother.

"You take those cuff links so much that you should just keep them," Oliver noted grouchily.

Tristan snorted. "Nice to see you too, sunshine."

Oliver rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm going to fuck this up," he declared.

"Please don't," retorted his younger brother.

Oliver sighed and glanced over at his parents, who were seated side by side while their makeup was applied. Despite all of Oliver's reassurances, Eadlyn still looked nervous. As if he could sense her unease even with his eyes closed, Kile reached out and took her hand. Oliver watched as his mother's face relaxed slightly in response.

And at that moment, Oliver realized that his parents needed each other. While he'd always thought of his mother as the commanding member of their family, he realized that she'd never be able to endure the pressures of the monarchy without Kile's support. He balanced out her high strung, serious personality. But similarly, Kile never would have been able to tolerate the gilded cage that was the palace without Eadlyn. She kept him cheerful and encouraged his nonchalance. They were each other's perfect match in every way.

Everyone deserved that. He did. Tristan and Isolde did. No matter what happened that night—whether the country turned on him, whether the Selected left him—Oliver would always stand beside the decision that he had made.

It was a sign that he had changed. He wasn't the same petty child who had decided that his brother would have to sit in the Christmas card because he was taller than him. He didn't want a wife that just looked good anymore. The Selection was changing him for the better, and he hoped that everyone would see this as evidence of that.

Tristan seemed to take note of the change in his brother's demeanor and quirked an eyebrow. "This is going to be good," Oliver decided. And then, spontaneously, Oliver hugged his brother for the first time in years.

Tristan seemed shocked at first, but it took him only a second to return the embrace. Neither spoke, but it would have been unnecessary anyway. They'd turned a corner in their relationship, something they could both recognize. The resentment, insecurity, and jealousy would never separate the two again. They were a team, as they'd lightheartedly decided earlier.

"Guys," interjected Coen, causing them to jump apart, "I hate to interrupt this show of brotherly affection, but we've got a show to do."

Oliver nodded resolutely and balled his speech up in his fist. "Wish me luck," he requested as he shot it into a nearby garbage can. Eadlyn's eyes bulged in horror, but Tristan beamed and shot him a thumbs up.

When they walked onto the stage of _The Report_ , the fifteen remaining girls were already seated in two rows. They looked confused by the royal family's absence, and Isolde's abrupt departure seemed to have heavily stressed her close friends. Margaery, Mae, and Kaitlyn were all seated in a group, the concern etched on their faces.

 _Don't hate me,_ Oliver silently hoped before he took his place in the center of the stage. It was the place of a leader, and he squared his shoulders, ready to step into that role. Coen quickly gave him a run-down of the show's organization, and then asked Oliver if he was ready. He nodded confidently, and after a countdown from three, the lights and cameras burst to life.

For a moment, the lights were disorienting. As Oliver stared into the lens of the camera, he tried to imagine the Illéans at home watching. While he usually tried to be charming on _The Report_ , he had no goal tonight other than to speak to his people frankly.

"Good evening, Illéa," he greeted them. "Tonight, we come to you with a very special edition of _The Report_."

It was strange to be the primary focus of the production staff and the audience, but he pushed on. "The Selection is one of our most honored traditions in Illéa," he continued, "It creates a very unique connection between the monarchy and our subjects. As having the fortune of being Eadlyn and Kile Woodwork-Schreaves son, it's a chance for me to hopefully find the love of my life. As your prince, it's also my opportunity to find a queen that will serve you well."

He paused and frowned. "I didn't understand that at first," he admitted, "In a way, it felt like a punishment. Like the little freedom I felt I had was being taken away. I'll also tell you that something like this is completely overwhelming. I don't know why, but none of the people who've actually been through a Selection have written a manual on it yet. So thanks for nothing, Mom and Grandpa Maxon."

The audience chuckled. "I'm sure everyone knows the Selection is all about love," Oliver shrugged, "but something that no one tells you is just how many different ways that you'll encounter love throughout this process." He glanced over at the girls, and in a moment that almost derailed his speech, he realized he knew who his Elite was. He took a second before he began again. "I care about all of these girls deeply. And I've watched them develop friendships that will last a lifetime amongst themselves. I'm sure no matter who my wife is—and believe me when I tell you, Illéa, that she is sitting in this group—none of the Selected will be strangers to the palace once this is all over."

"But tonight," transitioned Oliver, "I come to speak to you about a very different kind of love. I know that there are rules, and believe me when I tell you that I value the laws of our amazing country as much as, if not more, than the next person. But one thing that the Selection has taught me is that sometimes, love can't be governed."

"Love is confusing," allowed Oliver, "and very scary. But when you find one that is as beautiful and special as the one I have the honor of presenting to you to tonight, it's not something that you can run from or refute on the basis of whether it's allowed. Theirs is a love that is so pure and special that its clear to see, and I believe that it's the sort of thing that makes the world a better place. It's my love for these two people that convinced me that there was only one avenue for us to proceed down."

He took a deep breath. It was now or never. "As your crown prince and future sovereign, I have the pleasure of announcing the engagement of Prince Tristan Leopold Carter Woodwork-Schreave and introducing you, Illéa, to your future princess: Lady Isolde Noelle Havens."

The studio so quiet that it probably would have been possible to hear a pin drop for a few moments. Oliver burst into a flood of nervous sweat, and he began to clap in hopes that others would join in and assert their approval.

The first clap that he heard was small, and he glanced over at the Selected to see that Kaitlyn had jumped to her feet to join his applause. Beside her, Margaery and Mae soon stood as well. Whether it was from genuine excitement or a desire to not be upstaged, the other Selected soon joined as well, which shocked the audience back to life.

When Tristan and Isolde emerged onto the stage, it was to one of the most thunderous applauses that Oliver had ever heard on _The Report_. The pair were beaming, Tristan's arm at Isolde's waist. She looked every part the princess, and Oliver suspected that his mother's approach had been give the country no option but to realize that Isolde was the perfect addition to the royal family. Hale and Samantha's night of hard work had paid off, and Isolde was clad in an ethereal light blue gown that matched her eyes perfectly. The gown screamed princess, with a full skirt, a jewel encrusted bodice, and a tulle off the shoulder neckline that highlighted her elegant frame. Atop her blonde hair was a sparkling diamond and sapphire tiara that complimented Tristan's crown.

They were perfect: tall, regal, blonde, and so obviously in love. The pair clung to each other as they joined Oliver, and just being around them made Oliver feel like their happiness was rubbing off on him. He couldn't have repressed a smile if he tried.

His mother, father, and sister joined them on stage, albeit off in the wings as they applauded the pair as well. Oliver wasn't sure if it was his mother's doing or Isolde's as he thought of her PR background, but he realized that all of the royal family had been dressed in varying shades of blue to create a united front.

Coen, for his part, looked appropriately excited. "What a surprise!" he declared as he joined the trio in the center of the stage. "Your Highnesses, I'm sure I speak for the entire country when I say just how shocked but excited we are."

Tristan beamed at the camera, exuding a charm similar to his older brother. "While we know this is extremely unconventional, Isolde and I just wanted to express our appreciation to Prince Oliver and let you all know how excited we are to be able to share our lives together and have you celebrate with us, Illéa."

"As well as to offer our support to Prince Oliver in his future reign," interjected Isolde, smiling gracefully.

"Which brings us to our next announcement," Oliver declared.

He hadn't thought that Coen's face could look anymore delighted, but somehow it did. "You spoil us, Your Highness," he declared, "Another announcement?"

Oliver put an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Now that all of the official paperwork has been taken care of, we are excited to inform you all that Prince Tristan has agreed to serve Illéa throughout my reign as our Lord Chancellor," he explained.

Tristan nodded. "I am very excited for this opportunity to serve my brother, who I'm sure will be a wonderful king, but you as well, Illéa, in the position that I believe I'm most suited for. I'm confident that my brother is the best candidate for king our country could have, and I am pleased to be able to assist him in any way possible."

It hadn't seemed possible that the applause could be any louder, but somehow, it was. When Oliver had thought of placing Tristan in the position of his most trusted advisor—and the second most powerful individual in the country—he had realized it was too perfect. It was the perfect way to remove Tristan as an option for king while maintaining his place in the line of succession, a plan so brilliant that even Eadlyn had approved.

The show only lasted a little longer, as Coen asked a few more questions, like if they could expect a royal wedding soon (yes, December), if Oliver had any developments in his own love life (he thoughts so), and what the king and queen thought of everything (they were delighted).

When the cameras finally died down, the Selected were corralled to a nearby room where Oliver would address them all directly. Oliver took a moment with his family before taking his departure though. "That went much better than I thought it would," admitted Kile.

"We'll see," noted Eadlyn somewhat pessimistically. "I just hope everyone is too happy to realize that this was all somewhat illegal."

"Are you going through menopause?" Celine wondered aloud. Everyone turned to stare at her, somewhat horrified. "Just wondering," she shrugged, "I heard that makes people grouchy."

Kile put a hand over her mouth. "Careful, Celine," he warned her jokingly, "We have another princess now in the event that you push your mother too far."

Everyone looked to Isolde, who hung on the outskirts of the group. Tristan took her hand and pulled her closer, and even Eadlyn smiled warmly at her. "Indeed we do," she declared.

Tristan turned to Oliver. "Time for you to face the lion den?"

Oliver nodded, not thoroughly excited about facing the Selected. "Yeah. There is one thing I wanted to talk to you about though." Tristan nodded, and they left Isolde with their parents and sister as they made their way from the room.

Oliver frowned before he explained, "I've ordered a plane to take you and Isolde to Carolina tomorrow."

Tristan stopped walking, and his eyebrows lowered in confusion. He looked hurt. "What?" he asked. "But… we're a team."

"We will be," Oliver assured him as he turned to face his brother. "But I think I need some time. I really am happy for you and Isolde, but I need to find my own happily ever after, and I don't know if I can do that while comparing it to yours."

Tristan frowned. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's nothing that you guys have done," countered Oliver, "I think I've just relied on my council's support a little too much. Elijah, Celine, and Everly are going to take a trip to France, and Raphael's visiting Domincia. I just think this is something I need to do on my own for a while, really figure out what I feel when I'm just Oliver."

After a long period of consideration, Tristan nodded. "We're here if you need us," he offered.

"I know," Oliver smiled. The two brothers shook hands, and then Oliver continued on to meet the Selected, alone.

All eyes turned to him when he walked into the room. Oliver cleared his throat nervously. "I'm sorry I kind of blindsided all of you with that," he offered, "I just need you to hear me out. This doesn't change the rules of the Selection. I think more than a few of you knew how Tristan and Isolde felt each other before I did, and I'm not mad or anything, because I don't know that I've ever seen a love more real than theirs other than my parents or grandparents."

"But I'm serious about finding _my_ love," he pointed out, "So unless any of you have preexisting feelings right now for someone—at which point I urge you to let me know, and I will certainly be understanding—that is the last exception I will make. I won't take treason lightly, especially when I've given you this opportunity to be upfront with me."

"Uh, also," he added, "If any of you are upset about Isolde's situation, definitely come talk to me. She's going to be my sister-in-law, so it's something that's important for my wife to accept." He nodded, and when none of the girls spoke, he added, "Well, I guess that's all then…"

A few girls—like Irina and Ebony—left quickly and a bit aggressively. A few others took their time, sending him encouraging smiles on their way out. One in particular seemed to linger, and Oliver sighed as he realized that it was time to have another important conversation.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're trying to catch me alone?" he asked Mae teasingly as he approached her.

"I was," she admitted with a small laugh at herself. She nervously fidgeted with her hands, and Oliver realized that for the first time since they'd known each other, _she_ was nervous to talk to him. "We haven't spoken since… everything."

"I know," he nodded. "Want to take a walk?"

She nodded, and they made their way outside. The night air was a little cold, and he slipped off his suit jacket, offering it to Mae. She looked tiny in his jacket, and Oliver tried not to laugh at how adorable it made her look. "I think I'm still a little in shock about what you did for Isolde tonight," she admitted.

"You thought I wouldn't?" he asked, a little hurt. He understood her doubt though, considering how he'd reacted in response to her revelation about her past.

"I hoped you would," she noted, "I knew you had it in you to, I just…"

They lapsed into an easy silence. "Did you really mean everything you said about love tonight?" Mae finally asked.

"Yeah," smiled Oliver. "I'm beginning to think deep down I may just be a hopeless romantic." She was silent, so Oliver added, "Oh, by the way, your book is in the pocket of my jacket."

A confused Mae reached into his suit pocket and produced the tattered copy of _The Alchemist_. "Guess I planned on talking to you tonight too," Oliver admitted with a shy smile. "And I wanted to thank you for that. It's a little life changing."

She laughed. "I'm glad you liked it." She stopped walking and turned to Oliver. "Look, Oliver, I just wanted to say… I know I can't change my past. And I suppose in a way I understand if you can't accept it."

"Mae," he interjected.

"No, please, let me finish," she countered, "But I came here because I want to fall in love. I want the kind of love that Tristan and Isolde have, the kind that you talked about tonight that is so special that it makes the world itself better."

"Mae."

She ignored him again. "And I don't know exactly what I feel for you," she admitted in a rush, "But I know that it is scary and huge and not the sort of thing that I can just run away from."

"Mae," laughed Oliver as he pulled her into his arms. "Would you calm down? I'm not sending you home. I'm keeping you here, because I feel the same way."

She took a deep breath, as though prepared to continue her tirade before she paused. "What?"

"I feel big, scary things for you," shrugged Oliver, "So don't leave me yet. Even though I said some terrible things and was kind of an ass to you."

"Oh," was the only response that she managed. "Well… okay then."

Oliver laughed. "That's all?"

Her green eyes bored into his, and for the first time since their disastrous trip to Yukon, a genuine smile lit up her face. "That's all," she nodded.

And for the moment, it was all they needed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:** Hello, my loves! Sorry for the wait, school is kicking my butt. Thanks for your patience and support. As always, I love hearing what you guys think of the story, so I encourage reviews :) Also check out "Eye of the Storm" if you haven't yet for some Selected POVs! Also, random note, WE'RE HALFWAY THROUGH THE STORY OFFICIALLY. I am excited and emotional about it. Enjoy the chapter!

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On the list of "Things that Oliver Wanted to do with His Saturday," slaving over the Selected's files with his mother was nowhere near the top. Or the middle, for that matter. The more Oliver thought about it, the more it seemed like it was in fact the very last way he wanted to spend his rare bit of free time.

The only advantage of the situation was that he'd been allowed to miss breakfast and sleep in a few hours later. She'd prepared a breakfast buffet in her study, but it still didn't seem like enough when he had Eadlyn interrogating him. He reached for another donut in an attempt to raise his spirits and tried not to think of how Reyna would instantly know when he met her for their training session the next morning.

"What about Lady Rosalie?" Eadlyn asked as she fished the girl's file from the pile. "She's very sweet, I'm told. And what lovely eyes."

"Mom," groaned Oliver.

"What?" frowned Eadlyn, "Don't you like her?"

Oliver let out an exasperated grumble as he dropped his head to the table. "I just really don't want to talk girls with my _mom_."

Eadlyn pursed her lips. "Would you prefer if your father took over?"

"No," countered Oliver sharply. "I don't want to talk about them with _anyone_. Why do you think I sent Tristan and everyone away?"

This did not seem to discourage Eadlyn. In fact, she looked indignant. "Oliver, we need to seriously reduce the girls only to your Elite," she declared. "It's been over two months. There are certain tasks for the Elite to perform. You have to make sure you've found someone who's a good queen as well."

Oliver put his face in his hands and griped, "Oh my lord, Mother, I know who my Elite is, okay?"

Eadlyn bristled. "Then why on earth are there still fifteen girls here, rather than ten?"

The answer that Oliver had settled upon was that he was a coward. Sending girls home was the worst. He hated when they were angry with him, hated it even worse when they cried, and felt terrible if they'd come to escape something from home. And another part of him was afraid to narrow it to the Elite. Things felt so much more real once that happened.

When he didn't respond, Eadlyn frowned and reached for a nearby newspaper. Before he could ask what she was doing, she began to read: "'While we are delighted to welcome our new Princess in Lady Isolde, it is admittedly disappointing that our Crown Prince seems no closer himself to picking a bride.'"

"Mom," sighed Oliver as he tried to swipe the newspaper out of her hands.

She deftly avoided his reach. "'Does our Prince's reluctance indicate that perhaps his perfect match is not amongst the Selected? In comparison to past Selection, Prince Oliver's certainly has been the lengthiest thus far.'"

"I get the point," Oliver declared. "Thank you. Are you done trying to guilt me?"

Eadlyn folded her newspaper. "For now," she decided. "I have a conference with the chancellor of the German Federation so I'll be unavailable this evening, but send word if you need to speak with me later. It would be delightful to start November with the announcement of the Elite."

Her words caused a lump to form in Oliver's stomach when he realized that November started in two days. He sighed and swiped her discarded newspaper from the table, scanning it as he made his way back to his own quarters.

The good news was that people seemed to be taking to Tristan and Isolde's engagement incredibly well. They were ecstatic, but that didn't mean that they were satiated in any way. If anything, they seemed _more_ eager for Oliver to follow in his brother's footsteps.

However, he discovered that wasn't the most concerning news in the paper. Tucked away in the corner of one of the pages was a feature on Alaric Illéa. It seemed that he'd been accosted by a reporter outside of his seminary in Likely, and they'd asked him a million questions about his opinions on the current monarch. Alaric looked flustered in the picture that had been taken of him, but Oliver knew from personal experience how strategic the Illéas could be. He wouldn't have been surprised if Alaric was just biding his time and pretending to be unwilling to step into the spotlight.

"Anderson," Oliver called as he dropped the paper on his desk.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do me a favor," Oliver mused, "Get me Alaric Illéa's information. But do it quietly. Particularly if Jonathan's around." He still hadn't mentioned the flier he'd gotten in town in support of Alaric for king to his mother, although he'd sworn to his body guard that he had.

Part of Oliver wished he could hunt down Alaric on his own. It certainly seemed more fun than the task ahead of him.

Truthfully, Oliver did know who the majority of his Elite were. Some girls had been easy to make a decision about. There were other that he had decided to send home not because he thought they were incompatible but because opportunities larger than the prospect of a relationship with him awaited them. Some, he didn't think he would be able to fully connect with in the short time period that comprised the Selection.

Not that any reasoning on his part would make them any less disappointed or angry. He was pretty sure that some of the girls didn't have many feelings for him either, but that didn't mean that the rejection wouldn't sting or they wouldn't be disappointed to have their dreams of being a princess dashed.

But he at least had a few hours to avoid all of that. For the moment, Brynn's birthday celebration awaited them, and he intended to have a good time, especially if it was the last memory that some of the girls had at the palace.

Since Oliver had never been paint balling, he'd been fairly stumped about what to wear. The end of October was fairly cool, even in Angeles, so he'd dressed in a pair of cargo pants, a flannel shirt, a vest, and a beanie. He felt a little dorky as he grabbed his paintball mask, but if it was what Brynn wanted, it was what she'd get.

When he stepped outside, Oliver was amazed by the transformation that the grounds had undergone. Overnight, numerous different buildings and structures had been erected, all with an already run down, battle-worn appearance, and although he wasn't sure where they'd come from, there were piles of snow and leaves to add to the treachery of the field. The fabricated course had been set up just on the edge of the forest, which provided some natural challenges and had been filled with a few hide outs and traps of its own.

The girls seemed similarly impressed when Oliver joined them. They'd all dressed somewhat similarly to himself in neutral colors and layers and had varying levels of excitement on their face, which Oliver found amusing.

Brynn was ready for action, dressed in a pair of army green pants and a black sweater. Her golden brown hair was pulled into a loose braid that fell down her back, and she already gripped her paintball gun excitedly. "Happy birthday!" Oliver grinned when he joined the group.

"Thank you," Brynn blushed. "And thank you for all of this," she added as she gestured to the course for their paintball adventure. "This is amazing."

"We Schreaves have a bothersome extravagance gene that stops us from doing anything less than elaborately," shrugged Oliver.

In preparation for the party, Oliver had read a little bit about paintball online and enlisted Jonathan to act as their referee. He was dressed in a white and black striped shirt, complete with a whistle and a pair of binoculars that Oliver had gifted him to assist his job. "Alright everyone," he sighed as he approached the group. "So, first we have to decide teams."

It was a difficult process—as mostly everyone wanted to be on Oliver's team—but eventually Kaitlyn generously volunteered to be the other team captain. When they'd be separated into two groups of eight, with Oliver's team consisting of Brynn, Xylie, Margaery, Cameron, Dalila, Rosalie, Samantha, and Laine, Jonathan blew his whistle to gain everyone's attention.

"Basic rules," he declared, "First: You only shoot opposing teammates one time. Any more and you'll be flagged for a penalty."

"What happens when we get a penalty?" challenged Xylie.

Jonathan's brow furrowed in irritation. "You want to find out?"

Xylie appraised the burly man for a moment before she decided, "I'll pass."

"Good." Jonathan pressed on with his speech: "Second: the first team to capture the other's flag wins." He stopped pacing to face Oliver. "Third: No shooting the ref under any condition. Not even if your last name happens to rhyme with 'good jerk weave.'"

Oliver put on a mock display of shock. "I'm insulted you'd think I'm capable of such a thing, Jonathan."

His bodyguard grumbled. "Alright, everyone ready?" he sighed. He paused for the briefest beat, which meant that the group was mostly surprised when he blew the whistle to signal the start of the game.

Brynn was the first to jump into action. "Come on!" she ordered as she grabbed their flag and took off into the forest at breakneck speed.

"Great, we've got a sprinter," sighed Oliver before he shouldered his gun and raced after her.

The course was impressive. There were numerous pitfalls that Oliver had to jump around, and by the time he caught up to Brynn, she was climbing up a rock obstacle that had been constructed. Oliver sighed as he started scaling the rocks after her. "Where are you going?" Oliver huffed.

"To hide the flag," Brynn called back, as though it was obvious.

"Any idea where?" Oliver added as one of his feet slipped. Despite the cold, he was sweating a little from exertion, and he was a little surprised by how deftly Brynn scaled the wall. It must've been her delicate hands and feet, he decided.

"There's a hollow tree by the pond," Brynn explained. She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

"I'm trying!"

She laughed and continued her climb. She paused at the top and offered a hand to Oliver, who declined it to avoid pulling her down with him. Oliver groaned when he finally managed to pull himself to the top of the mountainous rock wall.

But a moment later, Brynn was on her feet again, rushing off with the flag. "You're trying to kill me," groaned Oliver as he pulled himself to his feet.

"It's better to be a moving target!" Brynn called over her shoulder lightly.

They finally reached the pond, and Oliver headed over to the tree that Brynn had decided on for their hiding place. The tree that she'd described had a large enough opening for Brynn to step right in, though Oliver decided to play lookout. He wasn't overly fond of bugs or whatever other creepy things lived inside of trees.

"That should do it," Brynn declared proudly as she emerged.

Oliver turned to her. "Pretty good hiding spot, but how did you—"

He didn't get to finish his question though, as Brynn pushed him out of the way and swung her gun over her shoulder. There was a loud noise and a small explosion of color appeared on Patricia's jeans. Once the shock wore off, she laughed. "Good shot," she conceded to Brynn.

Oliver, on the other hand, gaped at Brynn. "You saved me."

She laughed. "From an unsightly orange paint ball," she teased lightly.

"It would've clashed with my outfit," Oliver pointed out as he gestured to his army green pants, "So thank you for your service."

Brynn rolled her eyes but smiled. "Come on," she beckoned, "Let's go take out the enemy."

Paintball turned out to be surprisingly physical. Oliver was glad to see that most of the girls really got into it. At one point, he had to hit the deck to avoid an ambush from Mae and Kaitlyn, and he found himself army crawling away with Laine. At another, he watched Xylie jump from the top of a structure where she'd been cornered and roll down a hill to safety. He also saw Irina pretty physically knock one of the girls down with her gun, which drew a penalty from Jonathan and made Oliver wince.

They decided to do a best of three sort of thing to determine the winner. Brynn's hiding spot was so good that they won the first game, but when it was found during the second round, she declared with her eyes blazing that they were putting a security detail on the flag for the final round. "We. Must. Win," she declared vehemently.

Which was how Oliver found himself in a tree house with Xylie, guarding the flag from the other team. They were both surprisingly good shots, and their guns were propped on the two windows of the tree house to discourage any assaults.

"This turned out great," Xylie complimented from her side of the tree house.

Oliver smiled. "Thanks."

The pair lapsed into silence. Oliver noticed that he and Xylie didn't always have a ton to talk about, particularly when it was just the two of them. It was something that concerned him, as he didn't want a relationship with his wife only when they were in public.

Xylie seemed a little uncomfortable for her part too. "Can I ask you something?" she asked after a long silence.

"Go for it," Oliver shrugged as he scanned the ground below the tree house.

"Why didn't you send Irina home after the dessert party?"

Oliver glanced over his shoulder at her. Xylie looked nervous, picking at the baby pink polish on her finger nails as she inspected Oliver. "Uh… I don't know," he admitted. "I know that she can be… abrasive..." He remembered what Isolde had called her and almost laughed, "But I don't know. I think there's more to people than meets the eye a lot of the time."

He snorted. "I know there was with me at least."

Xylie glanced up at him. "You really believe that?"

Oliver smiled softly. "Yeah."

There was another silence, although it was a little tenser than the previous one. Oliver thought of all the times that Xylie had tried to speak to him at events when he'd been torn away by someone or something and realized that there was something she was holding back from him.

"You know, I try not to be overly judgmental," Oliver added encouragingly. "Sometimes I fail. But as a whole, I think I'm getting better at not freaking out. If there was anything you wanted to share."

When Xylie glanced up at him finally, her big eyes were tearful. "I've done some… things that I'm not exactly proud of," she admitted. "Not just here, but before the Selection as well. Maybe I'm not as openly mean as Irina… but I'm just as bad if you really pay attention." She wiped at her eyes and scoffed at herself. "I'm the queen of backhanded compliments. I treat people horribly."

Oliver was a little taken aback. It wasn't something he'd necessarily been expecting. While Xylie hung out with girls like Irina and Cameron who weren't necessarily open and warm, she'd always seemed sweet and cheerful around Oliver, even if he had suspected she wasn't being entirely genuine.

He abandoned his gun and crossed the treehouse to sit down beside her. "I don't think that's the whole story," he admitted.

Xylie stared at the floor. "Maybe not," she agreed. "It's just… a lot."

"Well, we're currently in a tree house guarding a flag," Oliver pointed out, "I think we have time to talk."

There was an unwillingness in her eyes when she glanced up at him, and Oliver sighed. "Xylie… I don't want to be a jerk, but I have a lot of decisions to make very soon. I've sort of felt that we haven't connected as well as some of the other girls, and if that's because you've been holding back… well, that's something that we can handle. But if it's because you can't let me in, it might be time for us to say goodbye."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to say anymore goodbyes," she admitted. "I guess that's what started… all of this."

So she told him everything, and as they talked, Oliver's indifference to her melted away. She'd always portrayed a perfectly happy exterior, but it concealed a lot of hurt. Her biological parents had died when she was young, and she'd been in an orphanage until she was ten. She wasn't close with her adoptive mother but her father and siblings had made up for it. She'd been happy with them.

Until a terrible accident had rocked her world. A family fight had left to her father storming out one night, never to return. He'd been killed in an accident that night, and Xylie had placed all of the blame entirely on herself after that. Nothing was the same—not her family, not her friends, not even her own personality.

"Xylie," Oliver sighed as he took her hand, "You can't blame yourself for that. It was an accident. You didn't kill your father."

The tears fell from her eyes. "But I did," she insisted, "I told him I wished I'd never see him again, and-and—"

Oliver put an arm around her and pulled her into his side. "You made a mistake," he pointed out, "You said something you didn't mean. We've all done it. That doesn't mean you have to punish yourself for the rest of your life. You deserve to be happy just as much as anyone else, and I think your father would want you to know that too."

When her tears were finally under control, she asked in a scared whisper, "Do you hate me?"

Oliver laughed. "Of course not. I'm really glad you told me all of this."

She pulled away to study his face. "Really?"

"Really," nodded Oliver, "But we do need to work on things."

She frowned. "Like?"

"Like… being nice to the other girls for instance," Oliver chuckled.

Xylie pursed her lips. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"It'll be a good start," Oliver insisted, "And being more honest with me is my other requirement."

"Oh no," smirked Xylie. "The horror."

"I know, I drive a hard bargain," Oliver sighed.

And then one of Xylie's rare genuine smiles lit up her face. "Alright," she agreed, "I can do both of those things."

"Good," Oliver replied, "Now grab your gun. I heard voices."

They ended up defending the flag to a triumphant victory. Brynn was more competitive than he thought, but he was glad that they'd one because no one could doubt that she wasn't enjoying her party as she ran around triumphantly waving their purple flag. Some of the girls tied it around her shoulders as they all settled down around the bonfire that had been lit to warm them all up.

"Thank you," Brynn smiled as she settled onto a log beside Oliver and playfully nudged his side.

"Best birthday ever?" Oliver asked hopefully.

"Top five for sure," smiled Brynn.

"Well, good thing I'm not done yet," Oliver beamed as he waved Anderson over. A tall cake with eighteen sparkler style candles encircling it was being carried by his butler and guard. In a loud, mostly off-key voice, Oliver began to sing the usual happy birthday tune.

The other girls joined in, creating a circle around Brynn and her cake. As they sang and Brynn smiled enormously in the light of her crackling candles, Oliver took a moment to inspect the group.

They all looked so happy. Arms thrown carelessly around each other's waists, heads leaning on shoulders, all smiling at their friend's happiness. He knew that the Selection was technically about finding a wife, but these were the moments that he wouldn't trade anything for. Even if he could know exactly who he would end up with and how their lives would be, he wouldn't take it if it meant that he had to miss all of these moments that he would treasure.

Brynn blew out her candles to a round of applause from the group, and when she turned to Oliver, her eyes were shining. "What'd you wish for?" he asked.

"Not telling," she countered, "This is one that I definitely want to come true." And as their eyes met and her smile widened, Oliver had a feeling he knew exactly what she was wishing for.

They took a walk after the cake had been eaten, a beer in Oliver's hand and a glass of champagne in Brynn's. It was cold, and they walked with their arms wrapped around each other in an attempt to ward off any chill from the wind. "Thank you for doing all this," Brynn smiled up at him.

"I have a confession," Oliver admitted, "I didn't actually build the course."

Brynn pretended to be shocked. "No! I never would've guessed. What a let-down."

He laughed and pulled her a little closer to her side. "I'm glad we got to celebrate this together," he admitted, "And thanks for saving me from getting shot earlier. I have a gnarly bruise from where I got hit during round two."

Brynn's arm around his waist tightened a little. "You know my mom didn't want me to enter the Selection?"

Oliver's heart sank a little. "So, was this your grand rebellion?"

"Sort of," she laughed. "At first."

Oliver smirked. "And now…?"

Her dark gray eyes smiled up at him. "Well, I'm not sticking around for just the food or anything."

Oliver laughed and kissed the top of her head. "Go ahead. I won't tell anyone if you admit that you're madly in love with me."

His ego waned slightly when she let out a burst of laughter. "Oh yes, definitely," she replied mockingly. She bit her lip before she added, "I mean, you're… pretty nice. Definitely everything I hoped you were."

Oliver laughed. "You're pretty nice too, Miss Emberly," he responded. "And since you're being so generous with your compliments, I have another present for you."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. "You didn't have to do that. This whole day was a great present."

"What can I say?" shrugged Oliver, "Extravagance gene, remember?" He pulled a slim box from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to her.

When she lifted the black velvet lid, her mouth dropped open. "Oliver!" she exclaimed, "These are beautiful!"

A pair of multicolored, glittering earrings sparkled up at her. "They reminded me of you," shrugged Oliver. "You're always so bright and colorful, so I thought these would be a good fit for you."

Brynn smiled up at him before she leaned forward on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," she breathed, "I'll give you top three birthdays."

Oliver decided he'd take it. He helped her slip the earrings on, and after he'd let her inspect them in the camera of his phone, they decided to head back to the fire before they froze out in the woods.

The party lasted until the night chill was too much to handle, and a group consensus determined that it was time to go inside. While the girls excitedly talked about how fun the night had been, Oliver's mind was full.

Something about the day had made him realize it was time. He was ready to announce the Elite.

It was a scary realization, mostly because it meant saying goodbye to some incredible people. And much like Xylie, Oliver didn't want to say any more goodbyes either. He cared about the girls, but he knew that hurting some of them was inevitable. It was what he hated the most about the Selection.

Before he lost his nerve, Oliver decided to do it. Before the morning, he would have his Elite.

Oliver decided that it was best that he meet with the girls individually. He figured that as much as he wanted to avoid the discomfort, it was the least that he owed them to be open and honest with them. After he'd showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he headed back towards the Selected's floor.

The first room that he stopped at was Samantha's. He figured it was an easy way to begin the process, because he could at least offer her some good news to mask the sting of rejection.

When her maid showed him in, Samantha was sitting at her vanity combing through her shoulder length hair. "Oliver!" she beamed as she spied him in the mirror. She dropped her brush and turned to face him. "What are you doing here?"

He hesitated for a moment before he pulled a thick, cream envelope from his back pocket. "I have something for you," he admitted as he stared at her name on the envelope.

Samantha looked pleased as she stood up and approached him. "For me?"

He wasn't sure what else to say, so he nodded and handed the envelope to her. Her face was excited as she slipped a finger under the seal of the envelope and pulled the square sheet of paper from within. "'To Lady Samantha Morgan,'" she read excitedly, "'I would like to cordially extend an invitation to…'" She froze and glanced up at Oliver disbelievingly. She sounded warier when she continued: "'Accompany me to Milan for a fashion retreat, which, upon completion, would qualify you for a position as my apprentice. Sincerely, Hale Garner.'"

Oliver tried to offer her an encouraging smile, but she seemed to be having trouble meeting his gaze. "I told you that I wouldn't leave the Selection for an opportunity with Hale," she recalled.

"I remember," Oliver cringed.

"So that means…" The fearsome tears filled her eyes, and Oliver repressed a groan. If he had something to offer her and she was still this disappointed, it didn't bode well for the others. She slipped the invitation back into the letter and sat down at her vanity once more.

"Samantha," sighed Oliver as he took a step closer, "You really are incredible. I just think that we're different. And I also think that deep down there's some stuff that you want to accomplish before you get married. I mean, you're only sixteen."

She still seemed incapable of meeting his eyes. "Yes, I understand," she mumbled. "It's incredibly kind of Mr. Garner to make such a generous offer."

"I'm really glad I got to meet you," Oliver offered, unsure of what else there was to say. "If you ever need anything, I hope you'll always count me as a friend."

Although there were still tears in her eyes, Samantha did manage a smile this time. "Thank you, Your Highness," she smiled. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

The terrible thing about naming his Elite was that after Oliver left Samantha's room, he still had four more goodbyes to say. Part of him wanted to run back to his room and hide from the responsibility, but he shouldered on to the next room.

Irina was dressed in a silk nightgown when Oliver walked in, and she made no move to cover herself with a robe. "Oliver," she purred, "What a pleasant surprise."

He stayed near the door. He couldn't let a nice figure distract him now. "Irina," he nodded.

Her eyes danced as she watched his gaze flit over her body. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Oliver cleared his throat, reminding himself to focus. "Uh, no," he admitted, "I just came to speak with you about something." She raised an eyebrow, signaling him to go on. He took a deep breath before he plunged into the speech he'd prepared in his head: "Look, I really appreciate everything you've done for me and how helpful you've been, but I think at this point in the process, it's time for me to seriously consider only those who I think I have genuine connections with, and I don't think ours is as strong as others. I'm sorry. But thank you for the time that you've given me, and if you ever need anything—"

"What?" demanded Irina as she cut him off instantly.

He frowned, wondering if he'd been talking too much. "Uh, I think it's time that you return to Ottaro—"

"I understood _that_ clearly, thank you," countered Irina coolly, "But what I mean is: _what?_ "

Oliver's confusion deepened. He didn't find her statement clarifying at all. "Uh…"

"Do you even understand what a good queen I'd be?" she demanded bluntly, her arms crossed over her chest. He was glad for that at least. It made it a little easier to focus on the topic at hand when she was a little more covered.

"I'm sure you would," he lied, "As would many girls here—"

Irina turned from him and began pacing. "Are you crazy?" she demanded, "I'm a _model._ You're probably keeping sad, meek little mice like Adelaide or bumbling idiots like Kaitlyn—"

"Hey." Oliver's voice was loud and serious, and it momentarily halted her ranting. "That's enough," he ordered, "I won't let you insult members of the Elite."

But this only added to Irina's outrage. "I'm being eliminated so _they_ can be part of the Elite?!" Oliver put a hand to his forehead, the beginnings of a headache already pulsing. "Do you realize I could tell everyone that we lied about that picture of you kissing a random strange during your Selection?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Go ahead, Irina," he sighed, "In case you haven't noticed, my approval ratings are higher than they've been in a while. And if you lied the first time, I doubt people will believe you now." He'd been prepared to understand why the eliminated girls were upset, but Irina was trying his patience. "Anything else?"

She opened and shut her mouth a few times, her cheeks still flushed with anger. She seemed unable to come up with any other biting denunciations, so Oliver thanked her for her participation once more and left before she could throw something at him.

Oliver paused outside of the next door, the exhaustion weighing on him. He hated this. He hated it so much. Even when he tried to let them down easy, it wasn't good enough. They'd given months of their lives to the Selection at this point. He imagined that despite their best efforts, it had to be impossible at this point for them to not have imagined what it would be like to stay at the palace as queen forever. And here he was bringing these plans to a shattering halt.

He knocked on the next door weakly. Cameron answered the door herself, looking surprised. Unlike the other girls, she didn't invite him in. "Oliver," she remarked cautiously.

"Cameron," he replied. He tried to smile, but it was hard. He didn't want to pretend that things were alright. They weren't.

She saw through him instantly. "It's the Elite, isn't it?" she surmised.

Oliver nervously shifted his weight between his feet. "Yes."

She pursed her lips. "And I'm not one of them, am I?"

He sighed. "No."

"Of course not," she agreed, her words coated in bitterness. "Well, thanks for coming to tell me yourself, I suppose." She stepped back and began to swing her door closed, until Oliver shoved his foot forward to stop it. Cameron looked confused when it bounced open, and Oliver tried to ignore the ache that had seeped in through his shoe.

"Wait," he ordered, "I just wanted to say one thing." Cameron looked on the verge of protest, but she glanced down at Oliver's foot that she'd just slammed her door on and must've figured that whatever he had to say had to be good if he risked bodily harm. She nodded briefly.

The plan was to say it all quickly, because he was quite sure Cameron was going to cut him off once she realized where he was going. "I'm not going to pretend to know you well," Oliver admitted, "That's one of the cruxes of the Selection: I can't form deep bonds with everyone, and it would be detrimental to the process if I did. But I felt like you fought this, and I feel like you're incredibly hard on yourself, like you never think that you're good enough for the things that happen to you. And I really would love to see that change. Stop comparing yourself. Just be Cameron, and be a happy Cameron. Let people in. You are good enough, and you deserve all of the good things that come your way in the world. You could've used this time to get to know your cousin, and you didn't. And I'm not saying you have to be best friends or anything, but there are people in this world that are going to care about you, so let them."

He'd mentally prepared himself for an argument, but Cameron simply considered him for a long moment. She didn't look angry, but her face hadn't changed much. "Is that all?" she asked after a moment.

Feeling a little defeated, Oliver shrugged. "Guess so." He removed his foot from between the door and frame and turned to carry on.

"Thank you." He froze and glanced over his shoulder, a smile growing on his face. Cameron rolled her eyes at his excitement. "You're not a genius or anything, but… well, that all makes some kind of sense I suppose."

He grinned. "Do we part as friends?"

Cameron rolled her eyes. "Don't go getting all sappy."

Oliver laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it." He raised his hand in a small wave, which she returned, before the door slammed smartly shut. Oliver gave a small chuckle to himself once more and headed a few more doors down the hallway.

Ebony lounged on her bed when Oliver walked in, underdressed in a similar vein as Irina and similarly not making an effort to grab for anything to conceal her nightclothes. Her pose reminded her of a queen—perhaps the Egyptian queen Cleopatra that he'd read about, who'd always been lauded as a great charmer of men. Ebony certainly could've rivaled her seductiveness. "Hi," she smiled.

Unlike Irina, though, Oliver approached her and took a seat on the edge of the bed. His conversation with Ebony was going to be a little harder. "Hi," he replied, trying to mimic her smile. It fell short of reaching his eyes.

"Oh no," she sighed playfully, "That doesn't look promising."

He sighed. He didn't want to say goodbye anymore. He hated them. "This isn't easy," he admitted, "Especially because I know what I'm sending you home to."

Ebony sat up, any pretense of seduction abandoned. "Home?" she frowned.

Oliver nodded. "I just don't think we…" He shrugged. "Mesh."

"I see." Ebony sounded robotic, as though she hadn't yet decided how she felt about the situation.

"There's something else though," frowned Oliver.

"Something worse than being sent home?" she asked dryly.

Oliver grimaced. "It's your mother."

Again, all she said was, "I see."

The emptiness in her voice made Oliver reach for her hand, which she didn't object to. "My doctor's staying there," he explained, "They're going to try some experimental treatments, and something might work."

A slight warmth returned to her eyes as she searched his face. "Why would you do that for me?" she asked suspiciously.

Oliver's brow furrowed. "I'd do it for any of you," he countered, "I think people think it's a line, especially when I'm sending them home, but I do care about you all. You've helped make me a better person, and we've gone through something kinda crazy together. How could I not want to look out for you guys?"

Slowly, a smile tugged at her face. "You know, you're not as much of an empty headed playboy as I thought," she concluded.

Oliver laughed. "Glad I'm capable of pleasantly surprising."

The final goodbye was the one that Oliver was looking forward to the least. Not only would the elimination leave an even ten girls that would become the Elite, it was one that he'd debated in his head several times. He'd thought over situation after situation—and even considered demanding that he be allowed to keep an additional eleventh girl for the Elite—to see if he could keep her, but in the end, he thought that there might be more potential elsewhere.

When he knocked on her door though, he was surprised to find that she wasn't there. Her maid said that she wasn't quite sure where the lady had gone off to, but when Oliver realized he knew exactly where she was, it only strengthened the doubt about sending her home.

The fragrant smell of what could only be delicious food greeted Oliver at the top of the stairs to the kitchen, along with the soft sound of instrumental music from Panama that she liked to cook to. He sighed and descended, thoroughly unsurprised to find Dalila chopping at the big wooden island. Her eyes were focused on the cutting board under her hands, but she seemed aware of Oliver's arrival and almost like she'd been expecting it. Two wine glasses filled with red liquid sat on the island near her cutting board. "It's homemade sangria," she explained as she grabbed a zucchini and began slicing it as well.

Oliver picked up a glass and sipped. "It's delicious," he declared. Dalila didn't respond other than a small smile. "What are you making?" Oliver added.

For the first time since he'd arrived in the kitchen, Dalila met his eyes, and her dark brown ones smiled. Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and the flurry of activity that cooking usually was for her had left her cheeks a light pink. She was beautiful, someone else who would've been an incredible candidate for queen. "Sopa," she explained, "A Panamanian zucchini cheese soup."

Instinctually, Oliver's mouth watered. "That sounds good," he admitted.

"It's perfect for days that you need cheering up," explained Dalila. There was a hint of sadness in her voice, and Oliver realized that she knew. He wasn't sure how, but he was sure that she did. "Do you want me to teach you how to make it?" she asked as she glanced up at him with a tentative smile.

"Yes," Oliver decided. She beckoned him over to her side of the island.

They worked mostly in silence, with Dalila occasionally delivering an instruction or tip. Mostly, they just let the music fill the air as they worked in sync.

When the soup was ready, she spooned some into two bowls, and they took it to a small table in the kitchen. "This is amazing," Oliver declared after the first bite.

Dalila smiled. "I'm glad you like it. I'll leave you the recipe."

It made it a little harder to swallow the next bite, and Oliver lowered his spoon. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she countered airily. She sounded as if she was saying it for both of their sakes.

Oliver chewed his lip hesitantly. "I'm really glad I met you."

"Oliver," Dalila countered quietly, "Please don't. I want to leave smiling, not crying."

So he didn't. He realized there was nothing that he could say to Dalila to make her feel better, so it was selfish of him to want to justify his actions. Instead, he held his hand out to her. "Can I at least walk you out?" he asked hopefully.

Dalila smiled. "Of course," she agreed as she placed his hand in hers.

The pair walked in silence towards the doors of the castle. Dalila's belongings had already been loaded into a black town, ready to return her home. She paused outside the car and turned to him. "If you ever need anything, I'm here," she declared bravely, smiling despite the tears in her brown eyes.

"That's supposed to be my line," Oliver mumbled as he pulled her in for a hug.

She laughed against his chest. "I just want to make sure that you know the offer goes both ways. You have some truly incredible ladies here, Oliver. I think that there's a really beautiful love waiting for you." Then, she stood on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek briefly, and slid into the car, the door pulled shut behind her.

Oliver stood and watched the car slowly depart down the driveway of the palace towards the gates. As much as he was going to miss Dalila, he felt encouraged by her words, and the agreement that coursed through him.

The girls left intermittently between that night and the following morning. When Oliver had told his mother what he'd done, a press conference had been called, and the nation was introduced to his elite: Adelaide, Xylie, Brynn, Laine, Rosalie, Margaery, Mae, Kaitlyn, Patricia, and Gabi.

In some ways, as he stood on stage with the girls in front of the barrage of flashing camera lights and reporters jockeying for their attention, Oliver felt as if the competition were starting a new. The eleven of them had just been plunged into new territory with much higher stakes. It was in that moment that Oliver realized, perhaps for the first time truly and entirely, that one of the girls that flanked him would be the one that he would spend his life with, a realization that was equally terrifying and exhilarating.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note:** Hola! This chapter gave me a little bit of trouble so sorry for the wait. In other news, there is a  very important poll on my profile! I just kind of wanted to get a feel for what the general consensus was. I promise to try to have the next chapter up much sooner than this one. Thanks for the continued support :)

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Almost as soon as the Elite were named, Oliver could tell that things were different.

It started when he tried to stop by the Women's Room. He'd planned a lunch for himself and Rosalie, since he hadn't gotten to see her much lately, but he'd been surprised when his request for entry was answered by a familiar face.

"Tia Marcela." Oliver blinked in confusion at his aunt's smiling face but returned the hug that she pulled him into anyway. "What are you doing here?"

"Your mother invited me," she explained in her usual Spanish accent. "How are you, mi corazon?"

Oliver blushed at his aunt's pet name. Of his three aunts, Marcela had always been his favorite, despite the fact that she was the only one who technically wasn't his aunt by marriage. Though they'd been together since Oliver was a baby, she'd never married his Uncle Osten, for reasons that Oliver wasn't sure of. She'd always been treated as part of the family though and, at the few state events that his uncle managed to coerce her into attending, was regarded with the same respect as Oliver's Aunt Josie.

"Fine," responded Oliver, "I was just looking for Lady Rosalie. Is she in there?"

Marcela gave him an apologetic smile. "Er, yes," she admitted, "But I'm afraid she's a little busy at the moment."

Although he knew it was an unbecoming expression for a prince, Oliver's mouth fell open. "What do you mean?"

Marcela laughed at his surprise. "Your mother invited me to help prepare the Elite," she explained, "We're working on dinner etiquette today."

"Oh," frowned Oliver. "Well, could I… borrow her maybe? Just for a little while?"

His aunt shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ollie," she countered, "There are too many dinners our family is required to attend." She winked at him. "She won't be nearly as successful at avoiding them as I have." And with that, she disappeared back into the Women's Room.

It was a strange change of events, the Elite being too busy for him. Up until that point, it was rare that people didn't make time for Oliver, if for no reason other than the fact that he was the crown prince.

He knew that the Elite had _duties_ , but he didn't think that they would take up time. Actual time that he could be spending with them. He rolled his eyes as he turned away from the stupid room and meandered down the hall.

"What are you doing?"

Celine was lounging in one of the window alcoves, a book open in her lap. She looked surprised to have found her brother so unengaged.

"I don't know," admitted Oliver as he dropped onto the seat beside her, forcing Celine to make room for him, "The Elite are too busy for me."

His sister smirked. "Bitter much?"

"A little," he admitted. "Tia Marcela is holding them hostage."

Celine shrugged. "Well, she is her own form of royalty back in Brazilia," his sister pointed out, "Who better from them to learn from?"

Oliver decided not to argue—even if he still thought it was stupid—and instead turned his attention to her book. "What are you reading?"

Celine showed him the book's elaborate, gilded cover. "Isolde sent it to me from Carolina," she explained.

"Have you talked to Tristan lately?" Oliver asked casually.

Celine smiled knowingly, although she kept her gaze focused on her book. "They're fine," she answered vaguely, "You know you can give them a call whenever you want."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Since when did I start getting advice from my fourteen-year-old sister?"

Celine beamed. "You should listen to me more often. I'm much smarter."

He elbowed her in the ribs. "Alright, Einstein," he declared, "If you're so smart then help me figure out something to do with all of them. I guess I'm supposed to find someone who's a suitable queen too."

"That's easy," Celine declared with a casual roll of her eyes at her brother, clearly enjoying her moment of superiority, "Make it a contest or a game about things that the queen should know. They've got lessons with Tia Marcela all week, so it'll feel worth it if they get to prove what they've learned."

As annoying as his sister could be, Oliver thought it was a pretty good idea. "I like it," he decided, "Are you down to help me out with it?"

Excitedly, Celine slammed her book shut and jumped up from her seat. "I thought you'd never ask."

He was a little surprised by his sister's organizational skills in the days leading up to their game. Celine took the lead, coming up with appropriate questions, a great prize idea, and the actual set up for the day. He was equally surprised (and a little disgruntled) by how little he saw the Elite outside of meals, but as soon as his mother noticed how much free time he had, it was soon filled with work.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Oliver was excited for the competition. As the girls filed into the ballroom Celine had picked, most of the faces mirrored his excitement, although a few looked nervous as well.

There were ten chairs spread out near two podiums, and a low buzz of conversation and curiosity filled the air as the girls examined the set up. Celine had taken her job seriously and invited the media team as well. Initially, she'd wanted to broadcast the game to Illéa, but when Oliver had explained the logistical difficulties of such a feat—and okay, yeah, he didn't necessarily like live TV in case he did something stupid—she'd settled with having Fiona write up a special on it while Morty recorded for any highlights they could release to the media and Leon quietly snapped photos.

He studied them closely as they took their seats. It was something that he'd begun to notice at meals as well, but the effects of their lessons with Tia Marcela were growing more evident. For the most part, their postures were straight, their movements more graceful. But some seemed stressed by the rules that were being hammered into them, and a small frown of concentration whenever situations dictated by etiquette arose.

In his distraction, Celine jumped to her feet and launched into an explanation. "Hello, ladies," she beamed, "Welcome to the Queen Quarrel."

The anxiety on the girl's faces grew, and Oliver rolled his eyes as he stood. "Ignore her," he ordered, "It's not an actual battle. She insisted we have a title."

Celine crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you shot down 'Selected Skirmish'—"

"We're just gonna have a friendly competition today," Oliver declared as he talked over his sister. "Celine and I have come up with some questions to test not only your knowledge of our country and what you've been learning with Tia Marcela."

Celine excitedly waved a stack of notecards in the air. They looked important and official, all a heavy cream parchment edged with gold and emblazoned with the Schreave coat of arms on the back. "There are prizes," she declared, "The winner gets to plan their own date with Oliver with all of our resources available to you. The first runner up will be invited to a family dinner with Oliver and my parents—although I'm not sure how much of a prize that is, if we're being honest."

This seemed to pique the girls' interests, and Celine had to clear her throat loudly three times before their whispering ceased. Celine directed them to separate into two teams of five before they approached their podiums. "Oliver and I will ask the questions, which I've assigned point values to," she explained, "When you know the answer, hit your buzzer. If you get the question right, your team gets the points. If you get it wrong, the other team gets to answer and can steal the points. You rotate each turn, so every girl on your team will get a chance to answer. The team with the most points when we finish will go to the final round in which they'll compete against each other."

She grinned teasingly. "I've saved the _real_ challenging questions for the final round." Oliver scoffed.

The first two girls in line—Margaery and Adelaide—approached the podiums. Margaery looked determined, while Adelaide nervously chewed her lip. Celine, for her part, looked excited as she read the first question. "Who is the first person after Oliver, Tristan, and myself in line for the throne?"

Margaery's podium flashed to life as she slammed her buzzer so hard that Oliver jumped a little in surprise. "Lady Margaery?" Celine permitted.

"Prince Kaden Schreave," Margaery declared proudly. Celine nodded in confirmation, and Margaery's team—team A—cheered. They rotated for the next question.

"What is the queen's full, official title?" Oliver read from one of Celine's cards.

Xylie, who had been facing Kaitlyn, hit her buzzer. "It'll be Her Majesty, Xylicia Woodwork-Schreave, Queen of Illéa," she giggled. Oliver thought it was funny that she fashioned the title after her own name but noticed a few girls roll their eyes in response. However, their expressions quickly changed when Celine pressed the button that signaled a wrong answer.

"Lady Kaitlyn, if you can get it right, the points are yours," declared Celine excitedly. She was giving Coen a run for his money as a host.

Kaitlyn blushed as all of the girls focused on her. "Uh… It's Her Majesty… Whoever Woodwork-Schreave, Queen Consort of Illéa," she explained.

"Correct!" championed Celine. Kaitlyn's team, also team A, cheered even louder, while team B looked stormy. Xylie shrugged her mistake off as they rotated.

As the game progressed, Oliver was glad that he'd had his sister come up with most of the questions. He realized that although he'd been trained to be king all of his life, he had little idea about the responsibilities of a princess or the monarch's spouse. It made him wonder if he'd ever paid much attention to his own father and feel a little bad that he'd been so annoyed at the training the girls had been undergoing.

In the end, team A, comprised of Kaitlyn, Margaery, Rosalie, Laine, and Mae won. Celine wasn't joking when she said that she'd saved the challenging questions for the final round, and Oliver felt a little nervous for the girls as he watched the first two girls, Margaery and Mae, approach the podium. "Explain the order of precedence in regards to just our immediate family if you were to marry Oliver, before he becomes king."

Margaery had undoubtedly been the fastest at hitting her buzzer the entire day, and the pressure of the final round didn't slow her down. Her usual crooked smile lit up her face, as though it was something that she had studied and was glad to be able to put to use. "We would always curtsy to Queen Eadlyn and King Kile, as well as to your grandparents. Lady Isolde would curtsy to us."

"Technically correct," frowned Celine, "But is there anything you'd like to add, Lady Mae?"

Mae smirked. "That's all correct when we're with Oliver," she conceded, "But without Oliver, we would also curtsy to a blood princess, such as yourself, to Isolde if she was accompanied by Tristan, and to your aunts by marriage."

Celine beamed. "Correct! Sorry, Lady Margaery, but this round goes to Lady Mae." Margaery looked disappointed that she'd forgotten the technicality in her haste to answer the question, but she accepted her defeat gracefully and passed the podium to Kaitlyn.

Oliver had a feeling that Kaitlyn and Mae were the closest two friends left in the Elite, as they both struggled not to smile in each other's direction as they awaited Celine's next question. He liked that they were such close friends but it also concerned him, if he was being perfectly honest. He didn't think that he'd have a positive impact on their friendship as feelings grew more serious.

"Alright," beamed Celine, "What are the official political duties of a queen when the king is the primary monarch?"

Instead of the instant buzzer pounding that had marked Margaery and Mae's round, neither Kaitlyn nor Mae moved for the buzzer immediately. Mae's face looked oddly stormy, and eventually, with an apologetic glance in Mae's direction as though she knew the reason for her friend's sudden change in demeanor, Kaitlyn gently pressed her buzzer. "Although she's expected to adopt a social project in Illéa, her only technical duty is to produce an heir," Kaitlyn explained, "She's more of a figurehead, unless declared as regent in the king's absence."

Mae's brow furrowed even more deeply, and Oliver realized that she didn't like it. Whatever feelings she had about him were stark in contrast with her feelings about the queen's role. She'd known the answer—had to have, as Mae was too smart not to—and hadn't responded based on principle. With a strange sinking feeling in his stomach, Oliver concluded it was something that he and Mae would have to discuss before the Elite progressed too much further.

Kaitlyn squared her shoulders, as though determined to shake off the discomfort of the last question, and Laine approached Mae's vacated podium. "What is required before the king may introduce a law change?" asked Celine.

Laine sounded her buzzer before Kaitlyn could move her hand. "Approval by his council," she answered. Celine nodded her confirmation, and Kaitlyn's position was overtaken by Rosalie.

The girls looked excited, as both were guaranteed a prize based on Celine's rules. "What are the two animals on Oliver's coat of arms?"

As it took him a second to recall the ceremonial design, Oliver was surprised when both girls quickly reached for their buttons, Rosalie's coming in just a little sooner than Laine's. "A dragon and a panther," she declared excitedly.

Celine declared her the winner, and the rest of the girls moved to congratulate her. "How the heck did you come up with all of these questions?" demanded Oliver as he stood off to the side with his sister.

"Fourteen years of what I've always thought was just useless trivia," Celine declared, "Guess it came in handy."

"And here I thought being a princess was just fancy dresses and people tripping over your every whim and desire," he teased with a roll of his eyes. "Thanks for the help though."

"Any time." Celine gave a casual shrug of her shoulders, but Oliver could see that she was excited to have been included in the excitement of the Selection, so he asked if she'd be interested in helping Eadlyn plan their dinner with Laine that night. Although she pretended to be hassled by her brother, when he offered to do it instead, she shot out of the ballroom faster than he'd thought her capable of in heels.

Before he returned to his room to start getting ready for dinner, he stopped by the Selected's hall to see Rosalie. As Oliver made his way towards her, he noticed how many of the Selected's rooms were no longer occupied. He'd narrowed the field from thirty-five to ten. It was incredible to think that so much had happened in only two and a half months.

But there was still a lot to do, he realized. Most days, it felt like his heart and head were both being torn in different directions. It was true that some pulls were stronger than others, but his lingering fear of making a mistake haunted him.

He was torn from his thoughts when Rosalie's smiling face appeared at her door. "Hi," she breathed.

"Hey," he smiled in response. Her cheeks were pink with excitement, although he didn't know whether it was the result of his appearance or her triumph at the game. "Great job today."

"Thanks," she beamed, "I'm glad all of our lessons are actually paying off."

"That was the point," admitted Oliver, "I just wanted to stop by and let you know to just send me a note if you need anything during the date planning. I was thinking next week would be good so you've got some time."

Rosalie chewed her bottom lip. "I'm a little nervous," she admitted, "Which must sound silly since you've planned about a hundred dates already."

Oliver reached for her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "It's not," he countered, "I was a wreck before the first date I planned, absolutely clueless. The only thing that made me feel better was my council was even worse at date planning than I was."

"Poor Isolde," quipped Rosalie with a giggle. She seemed to realize what she'd said a moment alter and clamped her mouth shut. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Don't be," shrugged Oliver, "I really am happy for them. And you're right, poor Isolde. Tristan's actually shockingly bad at being romantic." She visibly relaxed. "I gotta go get ready for dinner, but just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

She promised she would, and Oliver headed back to his own room. He groaned when he saw Anderson pressing his suit. "So Celine decided to go for a formal dinner?"

Anderson smirked. "Shocked, Your Highness?"

"Not at all," Oliver admitted. He sighed. "Guess I'll go take a shower."

"A winning decision, sir," quipped Anderson as he returned to his work.

When Oliver was dressed, he met Laine at the bottom of the staircase in the entrance hall. She looked amazing, dressed in a navy gown with one shoulder and a delicate beading at the waist that highlighted her slim figure. Her chin-length strawberry blonde hair was smooth and sleek, and a pair of diamonds sparkled at her ears.

"You look amazing," Oliver declared as he held out his arms.

She accepted it gratefully and paused to stick her foot out from beneath her floor length dress. A pair of jewel encrusted silver shoes gave her at least four inches of extra height, which was a bit necessary considering she was more than half a foot shorter than Oliver without shoes. "I feel like I'm walking on a bundle of tiny knives," she confided.

"The perks of being a man," Oliver replied. He loved heels—they really did a lot for one's assets—but he was sure he would've felt differently if _he_ were the one wearing them.

Celine had organized dinner in one of the smaller, more intimate rooms of the palace. It was still beautiful, with their best China laid out, white flowers lending the room an elegant feel, and soft music playing. Eadlyn and Kile were already there when they arrived, both dressed formally. Eadlyn was in a purple velvet gown with longer sleeves, and Kile's suit was complimented by a purple tie that perfectly matched his wife. Neither wore crowns, but they looked as regal as ever.

Laine gripped his arm a little more tightly as she dropped into the required low curtsy to greet his parents, and Oliver was amazed that she didn't topple over in her towering shoes. He gave a brief bow to both of them before he pulled Laine's chair out for her and took his own seat across the table.

"I'm so glad that your sister thought of this, Oliver," Eadlyn declared once they were all seated. Oliver rolled his eyes at the way that Celine made sure their mother knew the prizes had been her idea. Eadlyn turned her attention to Laine. "I've tried to help so many times, but I suppose I'm just the 'embarrassing mom'—"

"Like now," quipped Oliver.

Eadlyn rolled her eyes and ignored her son. "Tell us about yourself, Lady Laine," she invited. "Kile and I are so excited to get to know the Elite, aren't we, darling?" But they would never know Kile's true feelings, as he'd been busy taking a large gulp from his water and choked on it as he tried to swallow quickly enough to respond to his wife. A nearby butler offered him a brief pat on the back.

Laine tried to repress an amused smile as Eadlyn's eyes fluttered skyward once more. "Well, I'm a dancer," Laine began.

One of the things that Oliver had always been aware of was that his mother was a terrible listener in her private life. She could force herself to conceal her commentary when engaged in official events, but on her own, Oliver suspected she liked the sound of her own voice. "How wonderful!" she interjected. "What type?"

"A little bit of everything," shrugged Laine, "My parents are both performers as well, and—"

"Oh, what are they involved in?" asked Eadlyn.

"They're both actors, although my mother does films and my father does live theater, but—"

Eadlyn looked excited. "Would I have seen them in anything?"

"Maybe—"

"Oh, wonderful! What have they been in?"

At this point, Kile burst into laughter. "Eady, we're having dinner, not an interrogation," he pointed out.

Oliver and Laine both chuckled as well, and Eadlyn looked embarrassed. "Excuse me," she countered coolly, "I was just trying to get to know my son's date."

"There'll be plenty of time for that without grilling the girl, Eady," Kile assured her, "Celine planned five courses, so we'll be here for a minute."

After a moment, the tight set of Eadlyn's shoulders relaxed, and she smiled more genuinely. "I'm sorry, Lady Laine, you were saying?"

Laine told them about her parents, her older sister whom she'd been close with when she was younger, and what it was like growing up in such a dramatic family. Eadlyn surprisingly found the restraint to listen, and as Laine talked, Oliver was impressed by how easily she interacted with people as intimidating as his parents. She was engaging, interesting, and relaxed, even sending the three royals into laughter on several different occasions.

By the time dessert was served, Oliver had forgotten that this was the first time his parents had really interacted with Laine. "You must help Kile sometime, Lady Laine," Eadlyn declared, pointing at her husband with her spoon, "I've tried for years, but the man has two left feet."

While Kile looked insulted, Laine declared, "Why not now?"

Oliver wasn't sure if it was the glasses of wine that she'd had at dinner talking, but he was surprised when his mother agreed. Kile protested—citing everything from being too full from their meal to wearing the wrong type of socks for dancing—but eventually both he and Oliver were pulled to their feet.

Laine had abandoned her shoes and hiked her dress up to her knees so that they could see her feet. "So we'll start with a basic waltz before we get fancy," she explained. Kile looked wary, but Eadlyn looked excited. "Just follow my count."

Perhaps it was because she'd been so disillusioned with her husband's dancing, but Eadlyn had made her sons take dance lessons for far longer than Oliver would have liked, and as a result, he felt pretty confident on his feet, even if it wasn't his favorite pastime. Laine looked pleasantly surprised. "You're shockingly good," she observed as they revolved around the room.

"I might've taken dance lessons for like… five years," Oliver admitted. "I can waltz. I can tango. I can even foxtrot."

Laine's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Tango, huh?"

Oliver laughed. "Don't think my dad's quite prepared for that," he countered. They glanced over to his parents.

"You're doing great, Your Majesty," complimented Laine. His father did look like he was stepping on Eadlyn's feet a little less than usual.

"Teaching my father to dance," observed Oliver, "What other miracles can you perform Lady Laine?" He spun her in a circle, making her laugh.

"Well, I am working on a new trick," she admitted as she stepped a little closer, "You'll have to tell me how I'm doing."

"And what would that be?" asked Oliver.

"Well, I haven't come up with an official name for this one yet," she admitted, "But something along the lines of 'how to make Oliver fall in love with you' would probably work."

Although he laughed, Oliver's stomach did a nervous flop at the mention of the l-word. The only other girl to explicitly mention love in regards to him so far had been Presley, but he didn't feel as comforted or encouraged when Laine said it, the realization of which made him sad.

They spent a little while longer with his parents, and even if Laine didn't improve Kile's dance moves too much, she did have an impact on his confidence. By the time they snuck away, Kile thought that he was a regular professional, even going as far as to add improvisation into his steps. Eadlyn looked both amused and pleased when she hugged Oliver before he and Laine departed. "She's wonderful," she complimented quietly in his ear.

But his mother's approval didn't do much to make Oliver feel better. If anything, it stoked his guilt.

Laine was beautiful and personable and funny. She could dance, she could interact with royalty, she obviously paid attention to their princess lessons as evidenced by her performance in the game.

But Oliver wasn't sure if she was the one for him.

Shouldn't he have been elated when she mentioned the prospect of them falling in love with each other? Shouldn't it be something he looked forward to?

As they made their way back towards their quarters, Oliver's mind was spinning. Maybe he was psyching himself out. It was his first date since the Elite had been declared, and maybe he was just freaking out. Whatever it was, he realized that he couldn't go to his room and obsess over it.

"Hey," he asked, pulling on Laine's hand before she could start to climb the stairs, "Want to do something else?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yeah, definitely," she agreed.

"Cool," exhaled Oliver, "Let's stop by the Women's Room and see if anyone else is up, and we can all just hang out." If he were more perceptive, he might've noticed the way her smile faded at the mention of including the other girls on a night that she'd thought was just going to be for her. But as it was, Oliver was already on a mission.

To Oliver's relief, the Women's Room was actually pretty busy when they arrived. The only girls that were absent were Rosalie, Kaitlyn, and Mae. Tia Marcela was there as well, sitting in the middle of the girls, and Oliver had a feeling that he'd interrupted a question and answer session of sorts. "Hey guys," he grinned as he settled himself between Margaery and Patricia. Margaery shot him a warm smile, and Oliver felt himself relax. He reached for her hand, hiding their entwined fingers behind the tulle of her skirt.

"Has my aunt been regaling you guys with stories about how awesome I am?" he asked jokingly.

The girls laughed before Patricia answered, "More like stories about how awesome _she_ is."

He wasn't surprised. He'd always thought that Tia Marcela was one of the most interesting people he'd ever met as well. "Tell them about the time you and Uncle Osten went swimming with sharks," Oliver requested. The girl's faces were all shocked, and Tia Marcela looked amused but complied with the request.

The longer Oliver sat with the girls and listened to his aunt tell her incredible stories, the more relaxed he felt. But there was still a lingering concern that popped into his mind every time he glanced across the circle at Laine, whose face grew more disappointed the longer they sat with the group.

"Alright, enough for tonight," his aunt declared as the grandfather clock in the room declared that it was already eleven. "Don't forget we have more lessons in the morning, girls." There were a few groans, but they dutifully gathered up their things and made their way to the door. Laine appeared to linger for a moment, as though she hoped Oliver would join up with her again, until Xylie asked if she was coming, at which point her frown deepened fully and she stomped towards the door.

"Is everything alright, mi corazon?" Tia Marcela asked as she smoothed a hand over Oliver's messy hair. "You look preoccupied."

Oliver realized that he was frowning and tried to shake off the feelings that had been bothering you. "Can I ask you a question?"

His aunt smiled calmly. "Of course."

"Why didn't you ever marry Uncle Osten?" he asked.

Tia Marcela's dark eyes grew sad as she considered her response. For a moment, Oliver regretted asking, and he was about to apologize when she spoke. "I wasn't allowed," she shrugged simply.

Oliver's brow furrowed. "What?" As far as he'd known, his mother and aunt had always been friendly, so it seemed impossible that Eadlyn wouldn't have given her approval for Marcela to marry Osten.

Her face softened, and she must've seen Oliver's concern, because she explained, "Eadlyn has always been very kind and welcoming. But the council had concerns. I'm from a country that Illéa has never been allied with or understands particularly well."

Oliver knew that the countries south of them—Brazilia, Andolia, and Patagonia—were generally regarded as more primitive than Illéa and the other developed countries of the world, but he'd always thought the reasoning for that point of view was ridiculous. The three Latin countries weren't governed by a monarchy or democracy; instead, they had tribes and their chieftains kept the peace together. They didn't rely on technology as much as Illéa did and mostly kept to themselves, but they had incredible resources and had managed to keep their interactions with each other peaceful.

"Why haven't we ever reached out to those countries?" Oliver mused.

Tia Marcela shrugged. "People are afraid of things that are different from them."

"Your father is a tribal chief in Brazilia, isn't he?" asked Oliver. His aunt nodded. "Well, what do you think he would say about being allied with Illéa?"

She smiled wistfully. "Alliances don't happen overnight, mi corazon. It's a long process."

"That doesn't mean it's not worth trying," countered Oliver. "Even if it just means that things are better someday."

His aunt studied him for a long moment before she smiled. "You're going to make an incredible king, Oliver," she finally decided, "You see things differently. Better." She stood to leave but paused to put a hand on his shoulder. "Trust your instincts, mi corazon. I'll write my father. Informally, of course."

Trust his instincts. He had a feeling she wasn't just talking about in regards to foreign relations.

Almost automatically, his feet took him to Laine's room instead of his own. When he knocked on the door, one of Laine's maids answered and tried to insist that she was in bed, but eventually, he heard Laine sigh deeply and order the maid to grant him entrance.

She was sitting on her couch in the same navy dress with her knees hugged to her chest. "I thought you'd come," she admitted. "I didn't want you to, but I'm not surprised."

Oliver frowned. "I'm sorry," he admitted, "I just had a feeling tonight, and it wasn't the kind of feeling I want to have about my wife."

Laine rolled her eyes. "You know that sounds stupid, don't you?"

Oliver cringed but had to agree. There was no technical reason for him to send Laine home. Everyone probably had a little bit of doubt at some point or another. He wouldn't have been surprised if there hadn't been points that the girls hadn't doubted their decision to enter the Selection.

But he knew that he was looking for something that was different from what he felt with Laine. She was fun and personable, but she wasn't his other half.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "You really are incredible, and—"

She cut him off, her voice hard and her eyes full of tears. "Can you leave, please?"

Oliver nodded. "Take the night," he offered, "I know it's late. We'll take care of everything tomorrow." She nodded briefly and turned away from him, a sniffle betraying her attempt to conceal her tears.

Oliver felt bad as he returned to his own room, but he didn't feel like he'd made a mistake. Even if it felt like he was just bumbling around most of the time, he felt like he was on the right path.


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note** : Fast update! As always I recommend getting comfortable before diving into this, because it's long. And a little different, so let me know if you like the action in this. Also let me know how you feel about the long chapters/if you think they need to be shorter. Thanks for the support as always.

* * *

With the Elite well under way, in some ways Oliver felt calmer. For the moment, the world was off his back about finding a wife. He also felt like he had more time to spend with each other girls since there were only nine of them left.

But in other ways, Oliver was more stressed. With a major factor of the Selection taken care of, it allowed him to take a step back and inspect the other ventures that he had going on. Xander Seymour had already spent nearly half of the money that Oliver had delivered with underwhelming results, construction on Pacifica was going much slower than he'd liked, though his mother luckily hadn't caught on yet, and he still had the Alaric Illéa problem to address.

As the first two problems were largely out of his control, Oliver decided to take the Alaric matter into his own hands. Anderson had procured a phone number as requested, but Oliver didn't like the idea of having a "hey, are you trying to steal my country?" conversation over the phone.

Which was why he was currently making his way to Kaitlyn's room.

He'd been busy with official business all day, so by the time he actually had a chance to set his plan into action, it was already ten o'clock at night. Luckily, one of Kaitlyn's maids answered after his first knock, and she appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Oliver," she smiled widely, "What's up?"

"Do you know how to drive a car?" Oliver blurted anxiously.

Kaitlyn's face was apprehensive. "Uh… yes," she responded carefully, "Why?"

"Great!" exhaled Oliver. A large part of his plan had been contingent on this factor. One day he'd learn to drive, he kept telling himself, but it seemed largely inconsequential until the rare moments that the skill would have been helpful. "Can you change and meet me in my room in ten minutes?"

Kaitlyn's eyebrows knit together. There were a million questions on her face, though the only thing she said was, "It's ten o'clock at night."

This seemed rather unimportant to Oliver, so he pressed forward. "Think 'secret mission'," he explained, "Stealth. James Bond. That sort of thing. My room's on the third floor." He left Kaitlyn, mouth ajar and perplexed, to race back to his room to prepare his own supplies.

"For the millionth time," Anderson declared as he helped Oliver fill a nondescript black duffle bag, "I think this is a horrible idea, Your Highness."

"Duly noted, An," Oliver responded, unbothered. "Now, what the hell is this?" He picked up a square, black device and pressed the button on the side. It crackled and snapped with electricity, causing Oliver to yelp before he dropped it.

Anderson rolled his eyes. "It's a taser," he explained, "Just in case."

"In case of what?!" demanded Oliver. He was going to pay a friendly visit, not into battle.

Anderson's face was grim as he placed a gun into the bag. "In case you don't want to use this."

Oliver frowned. "Stop it."

Anderson's brow furrowed. "Stop what?"

"Being so serious," Oliver shivered, "You're freaking me out. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"Famous last words." Oliver glared at Anderson, and he put his hands up in surrender before he zipped the black duffle bag and handed it to Oliver. "Everything you should need is in there."

A knock broke the tension between Oliver and his butler, and while Anderson got the door, Oliver slipped on a pair of boots and pulled his black sweatshirt on. A glint on his right hand caught his eye, and he studied the signet ring that he always wore on his right index finger. It wasn't the flashiest – just an emerald engraved with his royal seal – but it seemed a threat to the incognito presence he was trying to adopt. He slipped it off and dropped it onto his dresser before he turned to face Kaitlyn.

"Ready?" he asked excitedly. Despite the apprehension on her face, she was dressed perfectly in a pair of black leggings, black boots, a gray sweatshirt, and a black vest. Her hair was in a messy bun atop her head, and she nervously tugged on her sweatshirt strings.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kaitlyn frowned as he led her down the hallway that opened into the servant's stairs in order to avoid raising any suspicion.

"Of course," Oliver insisted reassuringly, "We're just going on a small trip. We'll be back before anyone even notices that we're gone."

If Kaitlyn had any protests, she repressed them—at least until he pulled the cover off a black town car and held the keys out to her. She glanced around. "Where's Jonathan?"

Damn it. Oliver tried to casually respond, "He's sitting this one out."

Kaitlyn shook her head. "Nope."

Oliver deflated. " _No_?"

Her bun wiggled atop her head as she fervently expressed her disapproval. "Do you even know how dangerous that is?" she demanded. "Have you _ever_ left the palace without a guard? What is even so important that you could possibly think this is a good idea?"

Oliver sighed and shut the car door. He'd hoped Kaitlyn, with her usual carefree attitude, wouldn't have fought him on the plan, but he figured it was probably a good sign that she had. A good queen would, he realized, as it would've been careless of her to jump into such a reckless plan without much information. "I need to speak with Alaric Illéa," he explained.

Kaitlyn didn't seem moved by this. "Can't you just call him?"

Oliver shook his head. "I've never trusted Marid, but recently, he's been putting a lot more things into motion, like Regan's marriage. And… the other day out in Angeles I saw a sort of campaign lauding Alaric as king," he admitted.

"So you're going to get to the bottom of it," she concluded, "Find out if this is all Marid or if Alaric is gunning for your job."

Oliver was surprised by her perceptiveness and realized that her carefree attitude had maybe caused him to underestimate her. "Do we really have to go alone though?" frowned Kaitlyn. "If anything goes wrong, I get to explain to your mother—who scares the life out of me, by the way—why on earth I agreed to this."

"Uh… well… I kind of told Jonathan that I'd already told my mom about the Alaric thing," he explained, "And I haven't. Because if I did, she'd put the brakes on Tristan and Isolde. She's already worried about what they'll be a threat to my prospects as king."

Kaitlyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she held out her hand for the keys. "For the record," she declared as she slid into the driver's seat, "I think this is a terrible idea."

"Almost exactly what Anderson said," snorted Oliver as he hopped into the passenger seat. He realized this was his third time in the front seat of a car and had an inexplicable surge of excitement. "Road trip time," he grinned as he pulled a map out of the bag that Anderson had packed for him.

The palace was located in the middle of Angeles, and Alaric was at a monastery off the coast of Likely, one province north of them. The drive was about four hours, and Kaitlyn almost quit again when she heard this new piece of news, until he bribed her with coffee and a bag of Chex mix.

"What's the deal with you and the Illéas anyway?" Kaitlyn asked. She had one hand on the steering wheel and the other buried in the bag of Chex mix while her eyes focused on the road.

Oliver shrugged. "Honestly, it's never really been a thing until Marid," he admitted. "Spencer Illéa didn't want to be king, so he kind of just went into hiding and did his own thing. The crown passed to Damon Illéa and his son, Justin, and when Justin died, Porter Schreave took over."

"And they've never, uh, wanted the crown back?" Kaitlyn queried with a quick glance at Oliver.

"Not until recently," glared Oliver. "August Illéa swore to my grandfather that wasn't his goal even though he led the northern rebels."

"But Marid does," inferred Kaitlyn.

"And he'll use Alaric to get it if he has to," added Oliver.

She frowned. "Can't you just have him arrested? Conspiracy to commit treason or something?"

"It's complicated when it comes to Marid," countered Oliver. "People love him. Sometimes it feels like being king is a popularity contest. I can't do too many things that people don't like or I'll just have switched out one problem for another."

Kaitlyn smirked. "You mean things like flings with Italian models and stealing royal aircrafts to jet off to Europe?"

Oliver laughed at how ridiculous his past exploits sounded now. "Alright, Miss Perfect, you've had to have done something crazy. It's like a teenager thing."

Kaitlyn thought about it for a second before she shrugged. "Not really."

"At all?" demanded Oliver, "Haven't even snuck out of the house once?"

"Nope," Kaitlyn countered with a shake of her head. "I have two younger siblings, and my mom works more than full time. I've always been the responsible one."

"Wow, I'm seeing you in a whole new light, Davis," snorted Oliver. "So basically, this is the craziest thing you've ever done?"

With a groan, Kaitlyn countered, "Don't remind me. There's still time for me to turn this thing back to the palace."

Oliver gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Stop worrying," he ordered, "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Don't say that," she ordered, "Something always go wrong in movies when someone says that. You're gonna jinx us."

Although he could tell that she was genuinely worried, he couldn't hold back his laugh. "Superstitious, huh?" She didn't respond, but the white knuckled grip that she held on the steering wheel was enough confirmation, and Oliver felt a little bad for teasing her. "This isn't a movie, Kaitlyn," he pointed out, taking one of her hands off the steering wheel to entwine his fingers with hers.

"Isn't it?" she asked, sending him a rueful glance. "I'm on a secret mission with the crown prince. How is this real life?"

He laughed and kissed her hand. "I'm glad it's real life," he told her. "I'm lucky to have you as my partner in crime tonight."

"Let's just hope tonight is real light on the 'crime' aspect," Kaitlyn sighed, nervously chewing her bottom lip.

When they finally slowed at the dock, it was around two-thirty AM. Although Kaitlyn had started to look tired the last half hour of the trip, she was wide awake when she spotted the boat that Oliver had chartered. "Are you _kidding_ me?" she demanded as she slammed the car door emphatically. She was a little scary when she was angry.

"What?" Oliver frowned. "I told you he lived off the coast of Likely!"

"We're leaving continental Illéa," she groaned, "Your mother is going to kill me if she finds out. I'm going to have to go on the lamb. I'm not made for life as a fugitive!"

Oliver laughed and lowered himself into the boat. He held his hand out to Kaitlyn, but she didn't move towards him, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. "I have more snacks in the bag," he declared in an attempt to sway her.

She didn't look moved. "Oliver, this is a terrible idea."

"You've been saying that all night," he laughed. "Kaitlyn, it'll really be fine. Everyone will be asleep, so we'll just slip in, find Alaric, ask him if he's plans to oust me, and then get our asses back to Angeles and publicly accuse the Illéas of treason if he does."

"Why do I have the feeling that you just heavily simplified the plan?" sighed Kaitlyn. But nonetheless, she joined him in the boat.

The monastery was a little further away than Oliver had anticipated, and he was actually starting to worry that he'd gotten them lost before he saw the rocky island rise up from the middle of the ocean. It wasn't very large, but the castle-like structure that it housed was intimidating. To make matters worse, a heavy fog cloaked the island and made pulling the boat up to shore difficult.

"What now?" Kaitlyn asked as she stared up at the huge stone building.

Oliver dug through the bag that Anderson had packed. Aside from the snacks and map, all it held were emergency flares, a blanket, a flashlight, the taser, and the gun. Oliver handed Kaitlyn the taser. "For emergencies," he explained when her eyes bulged. He considered the gun for a moment but decided against it and hid the bag under the steering wheel of the boat. "Come on."

The island seemed bigger when they were exploring it versus seeing it from out at sea. A dense grove of trees separated the monastery from the boat dock. The thin beam of the flashlight didn't allow for the most comfortable exploration, but if either were scared by the occasional hoots or rustling noises, they decided not to talk about. It took about ten minutes for them to navigate through the forest to the front of the compound. "Are we just going to walk in?" Kaitlyn asked in a whisper.

"Why not?" shrugged Oliver. "It's a church, isn't it?" He walked up the steps and put a hand on the iron wrought handle of the front door. A nervous feeling tugged at his stomach, but he pushed it away and hauled the door open.

Immediate regret filled Oliver as a large, strident alarm began to blare. He turned a panicked gaze back to Kaitlyn, who looked just as frightened and unhelpfully suggested, "Shut the door!"

He did as she ordered, but the alarm didn't quiet. "Any more ideas?" he asked hopefully.

"Run," Kaitlyn determined. She took off down the stairs back towards the trees.

Oliver caught her wrist before she could disappear into the safety of the brush. "Where are you going?" he asked, "We still have to find a way in."

"With an alarm _blaring_?" she groaned.

"It's the best time," he insisted, "Everyone will be coming to _this_ entrance. There's got to be another way in." He pulled her along, and Kaitlyn reluctantly followed. They ducked behind a large stone pillar and watched as the front door was swarmed with guards.

Oliver glanced around, taking stock of their setting. There was a much smaller, nondescript wooden door across the court yard behind the monastery, and from where they stood he couldn't see a lock on it. "This way," he decided, taking Kaitlyn's hand again.

They were about halfway across the courtyard when the ground in front of Oliver exploded. Kaitlyn pushed him to the ground, and they huddled behind a topiary shaped like Jesus Christ. "What was that?!" Oliver peaked out around Jesus's elbow.

Kaitlyn pulled him back. "It must've been the guards."

Oliver gaped at her. "They _shot_ at us?!"

"I don't imagine they get too many visitors at three in the morning!" she argued.

There was a clamor of voices nearby, and a moment later, a bullet sliced through Jesus. "On the count of three, we run for that garden shed," Kaitlyn decided as she nodded at the small structure. It was further away from the door that Oliver had wanted to try, but he found he was open to suggestion when he was being shot at. He nodded his agreement, and Kaitlyn gave the count.

On three, they took off. They made it about halfway there before the guards took notice. He was thankful that they had terrible aim, as the pair were able to duck and zig zag their way to safety.

It was the first time that Oliver fully realized that it had been a terrible idea. He yanked Kaitlyn behind the edge of the building, his chest burning from exertion. He stared into the thicket of trees that laid ahead of them and considered their options for a moment before he pressed the keys to the boat into Kaitlyn's hand. "Get back to the boat," he ordered. "Now."

Her blue eyes flashed. "I'm not just leaving without you!" she countered.

"Listen," Oliver instructed as he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He hoped she'd believe that he had an actual plan and wasn't just making it up as he went along still. "My cell phone is in the glove compartment of the car. Call my mother or father. They'll sort this all out."

Kaitlyn looked like she was about to protest again, but there was the unmistakable beam of light from a flashlight and the sound of approaching footsteps. "Go," Oliver begged her. He pulled her in for a quick kiss. "I'll be okay."

Even as he said it, he didn't quite believe it.

She reluctantly slunk away into the shadows just before two pairs of rough hands grabbed Oliver. "Who do we have here?" one of the men sneered. He was huge, even bigger than Jonathan, dressed in all black and featured an intimidating scar that ran the length of the left side of his face. "A thief?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he countered, "And I highly suggest you let me go, gentlemen."

His partner, a man of similar size and build though with visibly less patience, demanded, "Yeah? And why would we do a dumb thing like that when it's so much easier to just toss you into a cell and let the bishop deal with you?"

"Because I'm Prince Oliver Schreave, you idiots," declared Oliver as he tried to wrench his arms free to no avail.

The man with the scar glanced at his companion. "You ever seen the prince, Ev?"

'Ev' shrugged. "In a newspaper once or twice."

"You got any I.D., Princey?" demanded Scarface.

Oliver glared. "I.D.? Are you serious?" They both stared blankly at him, which Oliver found infuriating. "I don't _have_ I.D.! I'm the prince, you idiots!"

"Alright, alright, calm down," ordered Scarface. "Got any proof?"

Oliver glared at him. "Uh, maybe my _face_?!"

Ev perked up from his right side. "Oh! What about a signet ring? Royals are always wearing those."

For a moment, Oliver's irritation waned. "The first good idea either of you have had," Oliver declared as he wrenched his right hand away from Ev. He held it out proudly. "See?"

Scarface's brow furrowed. "Your ring go invisible, did it?"

Oliver blanched as he remembered slipping off his ring earlier. The irony that the reasoning had been someone recognizing him was not lost on him, and he wanted to go back a few hours and strangle past Oliver. "Look," he tried, "If you just let me get in contact with the palace, we can easily get this situation taken care off."

Scarface nodded. "Of course. The prince ought to the queen on speed dial, right? Here, I'll let you reach into your pocket and call her." He generously released his grip on Oliver's left hand, although Ev kept his right firmly in his grasp.

"Uh…"

Scarface nodded. "Let me guess: no phone either?"

"I left it… somewhere," explained Oliver weakly.

Scarface sighed and grabbed Oliver's arm again. He and Ev started to drag Oliver towards the building. "Wait!" countered Oliver, digging his feet into the ground futilely. "Just let me talk to whoever's in charge and—"

"Sorry, _Your Majesty_ ," declined Ev mockingly, "We don't exactly have to go by your laws here, do we? So we'll do what we see fit with ya."

"I always liked that idea of cutting off a thief's hand," beamed Scarface, "Teach you to try stealing from a place of God, you worthless—"

But before Oliver could even panic too much because they'd threatened to _cut off his hand_ , two very confusing things happened. First, Ev began to convulse as two electrical charges stuck into his chest; after the fact, Oliver realized they were from the taser that Anderson had packed. He went rigid and released Oliver in the process. The second strange thing was that a dark figure dropped on Scarface from above, scaring him so badly that he tried to escape the grip of his aerial attacker and promptly ran directly into the wall of the monastery and knocked himself unconscious.

Kaitlyn groaned as she shoved Scarface off from where he'd fallen on her. Oliver's eyes bulged as he glanced from the roof of the shed that Kaitlyn had launched from. It took him a minute to even remember that he could move, and he was at Kaitlyn's side a second later. "That was awesome!" he declared. "Kaitlyn, you're such a badass."

She tried to laugh, but the sound died as she cringed. "Oh, god," she moaned as she pulled her leg from beneath Scarface. Oliver blanched when he noticed that her foot was pointed in a direction that seemed sorely at odds with the rest of her leg.

"Alright, calm down," he ordered, both to her and himself as he turned her face away from her foot and forced her to focus her gaze on him. "Can you move it?"

Kaitlyn tried to steady her breathing and nodded. "Look who's the nurse now," she laughed for a moment. She took a deep breath and tried to move her foot, but the attempt quickly ended as she cried out in pain. To Oliver's surprise, she reached down and began feeling the joint, her face contorted with pain. "I think it's dislocated."

"It's fine," he assured her, even though it _certainly was not fine_ , and he was freaking out a little on the inside. "Did you make it back to the car to call for help?"

She shook her head, and he wasn't surprised because of how little time she'd been gone. "Boat… no gas," Kaitlyn explained between deep gasps of pain.

Of course. This was starting to seem like a worse idea by the minute. A part of him was concerned about what his mother was going to do to him when she inevitably found out, but he was more focused on Kaitlyn. He'd gotten her hurt—physically hurt. She was gasping through the pain right now because of him. "I'm so sorry," Oliver frowned. He felt absolutely useless.

"I need you to do something for me," she requested as she leaned back on her elbows and took a deep breath.

"Anything," Oliver offered instantly.

"I need you to hold my foot," Kaitlyn explained. She swallowed deeply and blinked a few tears out of her eyes. "I'm going to set the bone back in place."

His stomach instantly rebelled. He'd seen such things happen in movies, but he'd always been a bit squeamish and the practice seemed a little violent. But if Kaitlyn was brave enough to do it herself so they could figure out what to do next, Oliver figured he could ignore his misgivings. "Alright," he agreed, "Just show me what to do."

The movies didn't do it justice. Instead of one brief, blinding moment of pain, Kaitlyn manipulated her ankle for what felt like an eternity while Oliver helplessly steadied her foot. The entire area of her ankle was swollen and beginning to bruise, and she cried through the entire process. Eventually, he felt the bones click back into their proper positions, and Kaitlyn collapsed into Oliver's lap, exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Oliver repeated as he comfortingly tugged his fingers through her hair. "You were right: this was a terrible idea. I should've listened to you."

Kaitlyn didn't give him an "I told you so" or gloat in any way. Instead, Oliver felt her stiffen in his arms. "Oliver?" She glanced around. "Where did those guards go?"

Oliver's fear spiked once more as he looked around as well. The previously unconscious guards had disappeared, the realization of which caused a chill to shoot down Oliver's back. "We should leave," he decided, "Can you walk?"

It turned out that she could, as long as she didn't put any weight at all on her injured foot. Oliver slipped an arm around her waist to help her, but it wasn't going to make getting off the island—which he still wasn't sure how to accomplish—any quicker. He helped her to her feet, but before they could make any progress, Oliver turned around to a group of three people. The banged up guards had returned, this time with a tired looking old man dressed in pajamas and a robe and guns that they both trained on Oliver. "He _claimed_ to be a Schreave," Scarface explained bitterly as he glowered at Oliver.

The old man rolled his eyes. "That's because he is, you idiots," he announced calmly. "The crown prince, isn't that right, Oliver?"

He nodded briefly and shifted so that he was a little more directly in front of Kaitlyn. While the old man couldn't have been as strong as his henchmen, Oliver had a feeling that he had more authority. The man turned his gray eyes on each of the guards in turn, and slowly, the guns were lowered to their sides. Oliver exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

"I'm sorry for any trouble, Your Highness," the old man began. Oliver was a little concerned by the fact that although the man addressed him properly and knew who he was, he didn't bow or show any of the usual standard acts of respect. It was almost like he believed he wasn't Oliver's subject.

"Uh… no trouble," Oliver tried, keeping his voice casual. "We just…" He glanced at Kaitlyn helplessly, unsure of how to explain what they'd been doing.

"You see, we don't get many visitors," the man continued, "Particularly in the middle of the night."

It made Oliver uncomfortable that he didn't ask why Oliver was there or make any offer to help them when Kaitlyn was clearly hurt. "I needed to see someone," Oliver offered vaguely. "It's important."

The man studied Oliver for a long second. "Do you know who I am, Your Highness?" he finally asked.

It seemed like an unimportant matter, but Oliver tried not to look annoyed as he responded, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."

"I am Bishop Moolsey," he explained, "The highest authority here at our monastery. "

"Pleasure to meet you," Oliver replied, "But about the person—"

The Bishop's eyes were hard as he cut Oliver off, a strange occurrence that Oliver found he did not enjoy. "I know who you are here to see, and not only is Alaric Illéa my student, but he is under the protection of the Church. Surely your mother would have told you the limits of your authority."

Of everything that had happened that night, the Bishop's reminder hit Oliver the hardest, and he swallowed deeply. The Church had sovereign immunity. They operated under their own laws and authorities, which meant that they weren't subject to the power of Illéan monarchs. At the monastery, complete Church property, Oliver was as powerless as any regular person. Eadlyn _had_ told him all of this, and it was likely why she hadn't pursued an investigation of Alaric's intentions herself yet. It was dangerous to tangle with an organization as powerful as the Church.

He tried to keep his voice strong and steady. "Sir, I completely understand all of that, but I'm not here to hurt Alaric. I just wanted to talk to him—"

The Bishop cut him off again, and Oliver's temper flared. "Is that why you've come in the middle of the night and attacked two of our guards already?"

He clenched his jaw. "In my defense, they were going to cut my hand off—"

Moolsey sighed dramatically. "The Church has always been respectful of the Schreave's rule, and still, you insist on imposing upon our authority."

"I wasn't _imposing_ —"

"Do you want to know something, Mr. Woodwork-Schreave?" the Bishop asked, his eyes sparkling delightedly at the growl of frustration that Oliver released.

"Not particularly, since we're being so honest with each other," Oliver muttered in return.

"The Schreave rule has not been kind to the Church," Moolsey announced, "Oh, back in the days of Clarkson, things were wonderful. We were Ones, practically royalty. But as your grandfather and mother turned the castes to ashes, now we have to rely on our immunity and whatever power the Vatican grants us."

Oliver was sorely tempted to declare 'not his problem', but the tight grip of Kaitlyn's hands on his arm reminded him that now was not the time for sarcasm. "Listen, Bishop, I'm sure that my mother would be more than happy to discuss your standing, provided I was able to speak with her about it," he offered.

It was a complete lie. Eadlyn ardently supported a separation of church and state, which he hoped the Bishop didn't know. But the man's icy sneer suggested otherwise. "Yes, I'm sure that she would be quite amenable to discussion," he agreed, "Particularly while we have leverage. Grab him."

And once again, Oliver was hauled into Ev's grip. He was a little rougher, obviously not pleased with having been tased. Scarface had a similar grip on Kaitlyn, and she whimpered as he forced her to hobble along on her injured foot. "Show our guests to the… waiting room."

Oliver was only briefly surprised when 'waiting room' turned out to be synonymous with 'dungeon.' He was unceremoniously dumped on the floor by Ev but stood to catch Kaitlyn when Scarface shoved her into their cell. Tears stained Kaitlyn's cheeks. "Is your foot okay?" Oliver asked concernedly.

Instead of answering, she tore her hands through her hair effectively ruining the bun that it had previously been in. As the messy waves tumbled around her shoulders, she moved away from him and towards the door of their cell.

Oliver sighed. "Look, I'm completely understand if you hate me, but I promise I'll get us out of this, Kaitlyn," he swore. "We're not going down here on this stupid island."

She ignored him.

He frowned. "I have an idea," he offered, trying to pique her interest even though he was completely out of ideas, even the terrible ones.

Still nothing.

"Okay, would you at least _look_ at me?" Oliver demanded, crossing his arms. "I'm sorry. I know I fucked up. I shouldn't have dragged you into this crazy…"

He trailed off as the door to their cell swung open. Kaitlyn turned around holding up a pair of bobby pins. "Come on," she beckoned, "Let's find Alaric and get off this rock."

"How did you do that?" he whispered as he followed her to the steps of the dungeon.

She smiled a little embarrassedly. "I guess there is something a little crazy that I did when I was younger," she admitted.

"Freed yourself from lock up?"

She snorted. "No. I used to pick the lock on bird cages at the pet store."

It seemed like an odd thing to use such a useful talent for. "Why…?"

She shrugged. "Birds don't belong in cages." It seemed reasonable to Oliver.

They eventually made their way to a stairwell that had a small plaque that read "dormitories" and an arrow pointing upwards. "So two options," Oliver mused as they climbed the stairs, "We can either look for an office or records to find his room. Or we can just wing it and hope we find the right one."

Kaitlyn paused at the door closest to them. "Or we can look at the name plates," she suggested, tapping one that said "Gorman, Benjamin."

"Right," agreed Oliver, "That was option three." She rolled her eyes affectionately, and the two began scanning the doors on either sides of them. "Found it," Oliver called over his shoulder about halfway down the hallway. Kaitlyn utilized her bobby pins once more to pick the lock, and Oliver slowly peaked his head inside.

The first thing that he noticed about the room was how plain it was. There was a nondescript dresser, a desk, and a bed—that was all. The clock on the wall told Oliver that it was three forty-five, so he wasn't surprised that Alaric was asleep. His relaxed face held the same innocence that sleep gave to everyone, regardless of their true characteristics.

"Are you just going to… wake him up?" Kaitlyn whispered to Oliver.

He nodded. "You should probably lock the door again, just in case."

Oliver had never been good at waking people up. It wasn't often that he had the opportunity to, due to his tendency to sleep in much later than everyone else. He cautiously approached Alaric's bed and decided to start soft. He tapped his chest. Alaric didn't move.

"We don't have time for this," Oliver mumbled to himself. He grabbed Alaric's arm with both hands and shook him.

Alaric's eyes burst open, and he exclaimed in surprise at seeing two figures in his bedroom. He pulled himself as far away from Oliver as he could. Oliver reached for the lamp on his desk and flicked it on. "Calm down!" he ordered in a stage whisper, "It's just me."

Since it had, admittedly, been a few years since he'd seen Marid's son, he wasn't surprised when Alaric's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Oliver…?" He nodded in confirmation. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I needed to talk to you," Oliver explained.

Alaric's eyes jumped to the clock. "At four in the morning?" His gaze landed on Kaitlyn. "Is-is that a girl?" He rubbed his eyes, as though nothing about the situation made sense, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't dreaming.

"No, it's a fairy," snapped Oliver. He rolled his eyes when Alaric didn't seem to catch his sarcasm. "Kaitlyn, Alaric. Alaric, Kaitlyn. Look, it's been a rough night." He told Alaric about their impromptu trip to Likely—leaving out the fact that no one at the palace knew he was gone, just in case—and how they were technically supposed to be in the dungeon.

Alaric didn't look any less confused when Oliver finished, but he pulled himself out of bed. He was taller than Oliver last remembered, and even Oliver could tell that he was a good looking guy. He'd never met Marid's wife—she'd died before Oliver had been born—but he heard that both Illéa siblings resembled her more than their father. As he watched Alaric approach Kaitlyn, he noted that the young man didn't remind him of his father at all. His hair was darker, his face softer and kinder, his movements less abrupt and more tentative.

Kaitlyn took a nervous step away from him as he approached her. Alaric paused. "You're hurt," he observed, even though Oliver hadn't mentioned that part (he thought it best to exclude handicaps from potential enemies). "I have a first aid kit. I can help you."

The room was silent as Kaitlyn sat in the chair at the desk while Alaric splinted her foot. "You're very brave for setting it yourself," he remarked, "And lucky. You should've gone straight to a doctor."

"I'm a nurse," Kaitlyn countered dismissively, "And it was a little hard while we were being chased by bishops with a grudge."

Alaric frowned. "We're not all like Moolsey," he emphasized.

They lapsed back into silence until Alaric finished. He gave Kaitlyn a pill to help with the pain and stood to face Oliver. "What are you doing here, Ol?" he finally asked.

Similar to Oliver's complicated past with Regan, things were not black and white with Alaric Illéa. He wasn't the bad guy to Oliver's good guy. They'd been playmates as children, friends even. But he was Marid's heir, his oldest child, and Eadlyn had always taught Oliver to be wary of him, a lesson that he recalled now.

He pulled the pamphlet that he'd gotten in town during his date with Gabi from his pocket and held it out to Alaric, who tentatively accepted it. As he read it over, his kind face settled into a frown that made him resemble Marid more strongly. "I see." His fist closed around the paper, creasing it. "You think I'm behind this?"

"I think it's my duty as the crown prince to make sure you're not," challenged Oliver.

Alaric sighed wearily. "Will you even believe me if I tell you I'm not?"

It was a valid question that Oliver wasn't necessarily sure of the answer to. Alaric saw the doubt in his former friend's face. "Oliver," he frowned, "I've wanted to study theology since I was ten years old. You _know_ this. This reeks of Marid. My father would turn my dead body into a marionette and prance me through every province in Illéa if it meant that he'd get to play king."

"When's the last time that you talked to Marid?" Oliver questioned.

Alaric shrugged. "I don't," he answered, "Living here at the monastery means that I'm free from your control, but it also keeps me out of his."

There was a tense silence between the two men. "Oliver," added Alaric, "Look, I've kept up with your Selection. I support you as our next king. Aside from this," he gestured to Oliver and Kaitlyn and then around his room, "which is a little crazy, I think you've been doing a lot of great things lately. You're not the same kid that had a crush on my sister and liked pranking anyone that took their eyes off of you for two seconds."

"You're Marid's last shot," Oliver pointed out, "to carry on the Illéa name, to bring it back to power. You'd pass all of that up?"

"Yes," Alaric shrugged simply. "I swear it. That's partially why I want to be a priest—no children, no more Illéas. Celibacy puts somewhat of a wrench in my father's epic plans for world domination."

Oliver mulled over all of this. "My mother trusted an Illéa once, and it almost cost her reign," Oliver pointed out.

"Give me a chance to prove my fealty to you," pleaded Alaric. "I'm not Marid, just like you're not Clarkson."

He had a point. Oliver supposed he knew what it was like to have disappointing family members whose dark shadows it seemed impossible to escape. He thought about his great-grandfather every time he made a mistake, every time his temper got the best of him and was sure that others did as well. Alaric probably knew what that was like better than anyone else.

He glanced at Kaitlyn and her newly bandaged foot and then back to Alaric. "I'll let you prove it," he agreed, "Help us get back to Likely."

Alaric nodded his agreement. "I-I'd like something from you as well," he admitted, "Just a small bit of good faith for helping technical prisoners escape. And because you broke into my bedroom and scared the heck out of me."

He almost rolled his eyes at Alaric's use of the word 'heck' seriously, but he composed himself. "Alright," nodded Oliver, "What is it?"

Alaric looked apprehensive before he raised his chin and declared, "I want immunity if I were to ever leave the monastery."

Oliver's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you crazy? Out there you're an Illéan citizen, just like everyone else."

"Hear me out," requested Alaric, "Just from recourse from anything that my father or sister do."

Oliver frowned. "I wouldn't hold you responsible for their actions anyway. You don't need immunity."

"Not everyone would agree with you," mumbled Alaric, "Still. Say it. Lady Kaitlyn can be our witness."

"Fine," shrugged Oliver, somewhat annoyed by the silly request. "I won't hold you responsible for the actions of your crazy ass family if you ever leave the Church's protection. Good enough?"

Alaric nodded. He turned to Kaitlyn and asked, "Can you walk? I can carry you, if you'd like."

Oliver frowned deeply. "I'll carry her," he declared pointedly.

Alaric took a step back and held up his hands. "Just trying to be helpful."

"Be a helpful guide," ordered Oliver. He scooped Kaitlyn into his arms. "Where to?"

"Tunnels," explained Alaric, "They lead right under the monastery to the dock. Not too many people know about them so they're unguarded."

"Of _course_ there are tunnels," muttered Oliver, a little annoyed that there was such a simple way to get to Alaric all along.

The downfall of the tunnels was that it took much longer to get back to the dock, probably about a half hour in total. Towards the end Oliver was regretting his insistence upon carrying Kaitlyn, although when Alaric offered again he quickly declined. "You can use this boat," Alaric offered when Oliver explained that theirs had run out of gas, and he pointed to a dinky looking speedboat that had certainly seen better days. "We just use it for emergencies, but it's reliable."

Oliver nodded stiffly and settled Kaitlyn in the tiny watercraft before he turned to Alaric. "Thank you," he finally announced stiffly.

Alaric's face was creased in a frown. "There's something else," he admitted. He looked nervous, which in turn made Oliver uneasy.

"What is it?" the prince asked carefully.

"It's about Regan."

Oliver froze. "What about her?"

Alaric's blue eyes met Oliver's. "She's pregnant."

It felt like a physical blow. Oliver didn't care because of the fact that it showed just how much Regan had moved on, but he was concerned. Just as it would strengthen Tristan's claim if he and Isolde were to have a child before he did, Regan and Nikolai's offspring gave them a leg up on his older brother, who had been married for five years and had yet to produce an heir. "Do you know if it's a boy or girl?" Oliver asked slowly.

He wondered if God heard more clearly on clerical grounds. In the few moments of silence that passed, Oliver prayed ardently for a girl anyway. Girls in Russia had little power and were therefore less of a threat.

"A boy," Alaric answered. His jaw was set tensely, and he avoided Oliver's eyes this time as he added, "They're naming him Gregor Illéa Dragomirov."

While a million thoughts were running through Oliver's head, all he could ask was, "How do you know all of this?"

"Just because I don't talk to my father doesn't mean I haven't tried to keep in touch with Regan," he retorted, "I'd hoped that she'd be better than all of this… That she'd just try to be happy."

"So did I," admitted Oliver. Turns out they'd both been disappointed. The slight silver lining was that if Alaric's sharing of the news didn't establish his loyalty to Oliver over his family, little else would. "Thanks for telling me."

"Thank _you_ ," responded Alaric, "for believing me. Good luck, Oliver."

"I'm sure we'll meet again," sighed Oliver, "But you too, Alaric." The two men shook hands, and then Oliver made his way to the boat.

There was silence as they sped towards the Likely coastline, and the further they got from the monastery, the more Oliver expected a sense of relief to fill him. But none came. Beside him, Kaitlyn's face became stonier as time passed, and the few times he tried to engage her in conversation, she blatantly ignored him.

She denied his offer of help when they reached the dock, instead choosing to hobble to the car on her own. "Kaitlyn, let me drive," he requested, even though she didn't need her left foot in order to do so.

"Just get in the car, Oliver," she replied wearily as she leaned against the driver side door.

"Kaitlyn—"

Contrary to any behavior that he'd ever seen from her before, she pounded her first on the top of the car, her eyes blazing. "Get. In. The. Car."

But Oliver had never been very good at listening, so he crossed to Kaitlyn's side of the car. "I'm sorry," he told her again, for what had to be the millionth time that night. "It was a terrible idea, and I shouldn't have asked you to come, and—"

He was cut off when she burst into tears. Whether they were tears of pain or frustration or relief he wasn't sure, but it didn't make much of a different. He pulled her into his arms, relieved when she didn't push him away. "Don't ever ask me to do something like this again," she stammered through her tears.

"Kaitlyn," he began comfortingly as he rubbed her back, "We're alright. We're back, and we're both fine."

She shook her head, as though unconvinced. Her eyes were red when she looked up at him. "Do you even know how awful it felt to leave you there and know that something terrible could've happened to you?"

"Nothing did, though," he tried.

It fell on deaf ears. "Never again, Oliver," she repeated, "Don't ever ask me to do something like that ever again. I can't. If something would've happened to you, I never would've forgiven myself, because I love you."

Her words spread over Oliver like ice, and although she continued to rant, he was fixated on the three tiny words. Eventually, the realization of what she'd said must've hit Kaitlyn as well because she froze too and slapped a hand over her mouth. "It's late," she pointed out, "I'm probably delirious. I think Alaric gave me a Vicodin, and I have no drug tolerance, and—"

With a hand on either side of her face, he crushed her lips to his. She _loved_ him. He had just put her through actual hell, and it hadn't changed her opinion of him. He'd made stupid, rash decisions. But she'd risen to the occasion, and silly, carefree Kaitlyn had been focused, resourceful Kaitlyn. _And she loved him_.

He kissed her softly, because if he'd gone with all consuming passion, they both admittedly probably would've passed out. In contrast to the cold, early morning air in Likely, her mouth was warm, and her body was soft and comforting against his. They slowly parted, and Oliver kissed her forehead. "Let me drive," he requested softly.

"You don't know how," Kaitlyn argued breathlessly.

"You can teach me," he declared, "I trust you."

It was true. He trusted her implicitly, even with his life he would argue. And she must've felt the same, because she agreed.

It was the longest four hours back to Angeles, and Oliver swerved, sped, and generally was a vehicular menace but they made it back in one piece. It was almost eight when they snuck into the palace, and Oliver took Kaitlyn directly to the palace doctor. He explained that they'd been out for an early morning walk when she'd tripped; if the doctor doubted the story from their tired, bloodshot eyes and tousled appearances, he didn't voice his opinion. Kaitlyn had a slight fracture that she'd have to wear a walking boot on for four weeks, but all in all, she should heal well, the doctor declared.

They skipped breakfast, and Oliver sent for Mae to take care of Kaitlyn for the morning. When they briefed her, her eyes flashed dangerously in Oliver's direction, as though she couldn't believe that he'd put her friend in such danger. Oliver took that as his cue to leave and snuck back to his own room.

Anderson was nervously pacing when he arrived, and his butler proclaimed that he'd never been so happy to see the prince. Oliver had smiled weakly and requested a shower and a mimosa, but by the time his butler returned, he'd passed out face first on his bed.

But the biggest miracle of the entire day was that Eadlyn never found out. He supposed it would've been dangerous for Moolsey to tell her because of his treatment of the prince. When Oliver awoke after a solid twelve hours of sleep, he felt oddly proud of himself. It might not have been his most responsible decision, but he'd taken action, and they'd escaped with only minor injuries. He could officially close the book on the big Alaric situation—one problem crossed off of an ever growing list.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note:** Hi guys! Sorry this took a while, school's always the excuse. I'm going out of town this weekend so really wanted to get this up for you :) There is a very important poll on my profile, and there will be a masquerade coming up, so if you still have a character in the story and have a strong opinion about your character's costume, please message me soon! Even more helpful if you can find it on pinterest :)

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Oliver decided that he had to be the luckiest unlucky person he'd ever met.

For the first few days after his disastrous trip with Kaitlyn, he was afraid every time his mother said his name that she was about to berate him for his stupidity. He jumped whenever she addressed him, and on more than one occasion, he hurriedly turned a corner when he saw her approaching.

But by some miracle that Oliver would never understand (and admittedly didn't question much), she never found out, and if she did, she didn't mention it

However, this could have been because Eadlyn was busy herself. Her Silver Jubilee, a large celebration marking the twenty-fifth anniversary of her coronation, was quickly approaching on November 11th, and thus, the palace was consumed with preparations.

Unfortunately, Oliver quickly discovered that he fell under the jurisdiction of "the palace," and Eadlyn was more than happy to put him to work.

Traditionally, Illéan monarchs didn't rule particularly long. In contrast to Emperor Hasani in Sahara, still ruling in his eighties, or Queen Nicoletta in Italy, who had been the monarch for almost twice as long as Oliver's grandfather Maxon, the general expectation was that Oliver would take over for his mother within the next ten years. This meant that her Silver Jubilee was the only monumental milestone Eadlyn would ever reach as queen.

And she certainly did not plan to pass up the opportunity to celebrate.

In addition to the two-week tour of Illéa that she had taken back in October, the weekend of the anniversary was consumed by events. On Friday, there was to be a parade through Angeles, a military demonstration in the Queen's honor, and a state dinner. The actual anniversary, Saturday, would see official portraits of the Royal Family (including Tristan, who was returning from Carolina for the event with his new fiancée), a horse race and garden party in the Queen's honor at the palace, and a masquerade ball that night. Sunday, the Royal Family would attend a church service in Angeles and spend the afternoon greeting the people.

"We're not even particularly religious," protested Oliver after he scanned the itinerary. His father had delivered it to his bedroom, where he'd been trying to hide out.

Kile held up his hands. "It's what your mother wants. Good precedent or something like that."

"She knows we're not fooling anyone, right?" Oliver quirked an eyebrow at his father. They usually only attended church on major holidays like Christmas and Easter. "They don't think that we're some pure, religious beings because we go one extra time this year."

Kile looked amused. "Maybe they think we take mass at the palace."

"They don't," Oliver assured him. He groaned and tossed the itinerary over his shoulder.

"One more thing," Kile informed him.

"As always," nodded Oliver.

"Your mother wants the Selected to plan the race and party," he explained, "Something about 'proving their abilities on such a large scale.'"

Oliver snorted. "They'll love that. Half of them are terrified of Mom. But fine, as long as it takes something off my plate."

Kile rolled his eyes. "How did I get such a ruthless and self-serving child?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know, did you hug me enough in my youth?"

"More than enough," countered Kile, "Never forget you were the most spoiled child in all of Illéa."

Since Eadlyn was too busy to explain it herself and Kile didn't like to be the bearer of bad news, Oliver headed to the Women's Room after his father left him alone. Tia Marcela was already present, leading the girls through dance lessons—except for Kaitlyn, who was still in a walking boot that made Oliver feel guilty every time he saw it—but she permitted Oliver entrance this time when he mentioned that he was there regarding the Silver Jubilee.

"Queen Eadlyn's reign has been one of the longest and most successful of any of the Schreaves or Illéas, for that matter," Tia Marcela explained to the girls as they took seats in the Women's Room.

"So of course, the celebration is going to be the most extravagant thing Illéa's ever seen," concluded Oliver, "You'll all finally get to see where I get my flair for dramatics from." A few girls giggled.

Tia Marcela rolled her eyes at Oliver and continued, "As silly as it might sound, event planning is a very important part of the queen's role. It can help to foster relationships between countries, assert the monarchy's power, or even show appreciation to your subjects. Queen Eadlyn has very graciously extended an opportunity to you ladies to be directly involved with planning a special event for the jubilee."

"If she would've phrased it like that, I might be excited about all the involvement I've had," mumbled Oliver.

His aunt ignored him and gave the girls a brief rundown of the itinerary. "Queen Eadlyn loves horse races, so there will be a race in her honor as well as a garden party here at the palace on Saturday," explained Marcela, "And you ladies will oversee its organization."

The girls looked nervous. "Don't worry," shrugged Oliver, "It's not like my mother's particular." A few faces blanched.

The tall, brunette woman swatted his elbow. "Alright, you've been helpful enough," she declared.

Oliver held his hands up defensively. "I'll get out of your hair," he declared, "Lady Rosalie, I believe we have an afternoon planned."

Rosalie, who was one of the girls that looked intimidated by the prospect of planning something up to Eadlyn's expectations, brightened. She was dressed in a silver and blue off the shoulder dress, her hair tucked into a low chignon and her glasses perched delicately on her nose. Oliver offered a hand to her, and she broke away from the group. He tried to ignore the negative looks, ranging from disappointment to jealousy, that he was regarded with when he took Rosalie's hand.

"It's a little weird not knowing what the plan is for today," he admitted.

She giggled. "This is how we feel every time we have a date with you," she pointed out.

Oliver nodded. "Shoe's on the other foot. I don't know that I like it."

She led him through the palace until they'd arrived at one of the smaller sitting rooms. It was a handsome room with mahogany furniture, plush couches, and ceiling to floor length mirrors. "I wanted to do this outside," admitted Rosalie, and she cast a disappointed gaze at the windows that were splattered with rain drops, "but the weather hasn't wanted to cooperate."

"What are we doing exactly?" Oliver asked as he glanced around. One of the tables was set up with an odd collection of cups, flavorings, and marshmallows, and there were a few blankets sitting on one of the nearby couches, as well as slippers. Another table featured an assortment of food that made Oliver's stomach grumble.

Rosalie kicked her heels off and slipped on a pair of slippers. "I thought we would just hang out," she explained, "You've probably been really busy with the jubilee and just being prince, so I thought that you might like to just relax."

For a moment, the ever-present tension in Oliver's shoulders relaxed. The prospect of an afternoon that was planned for his relaxation was a bit of a novelty to Oliver, but he realized it was exactly what he needed. He toed off his shoes, grabbed a pair of slippers and a blanket to wrap around his shoulders, and began inspecting the hot chocolate station. Rosalie had outdone herself. There was white hot chocolate, dark chocolate, milk chocolate and flavors that he didn't even know he wanted to try in his hot chocolate.

"Any suggestions?" he asked as he inspected his options.

"I like peppermint hot chocolate," Rosalie offered.

Oliver decided to take her suggestion. After he'd heaped an overly generous amount of whipped cream onto his mug of peppermint hot chocolate, he wandered over to the other table of food. There were chicken wings, elephant ears, popcorn, hot pretzels, mozzarella sticks, nachos, and fried zucchini. "What's all this?" Oliver laughed as he grabbed a mozzarella stick.

Rosalie blushed. "I might've asked your parents about your favorite foods."

Oliver had been prepared to reach for another mozzarella stick, but he paused to look at Rosalie. He'd always been aware that she was one of the shyer girls, and the idea that she'd gone to his mother, who intimidated even those of the strongest conviction, just to ask about his favorite food made Oliver smile uncontrollably. "Really?"

"Really," she smiled. "Although you really do have some terrible favorite foods."

"What?" demanded Oliver playfully. "No, look, you just gotta know how to combine it."

He showed Rosalie the best combination—wings, nachos, then the fried foods, followed up by the elephant ear, of course—as they settled onto one of the comfortable couches. "Should we watch a movie or something?" asked Oliver as he reached for the remote.

Rosalie shrugged cheerfully. "This is your day," she reminded him.

"I could get used to this," grinned Oliver as he started to flip through the channels. He searched aimlessly for a while, until he excitedly noticed that there was a Lions game on. "I _love_ the Lions," Oliver explained to Rosalie. "Oh, gross, they're playing Dominica."

"Wait, it says they're playing the Vipers," Rosalie pointed out.

Oliver glanced at Rosalie to see if she was joking—she wasn't—before he put an arm around her shoulders affectionately. "The Vipers are Dominica's team," explained Oliver kindly. "Like we're the Angeles Lions. They were actually named for one of the animals on my mom's coat of arms."

"Have you liked them for long?" Rosalie asked.

"Uh, _forever_ ," declared Oliver, "We usually go to at least one game a year. And if they ever make the playoffs or Illéan Championship—which is admittedly overdue, but we'll ignore that for now."

Rosalie nodded as she munched on an onion ring. She was silent for a moment as Oliver remained glued to the game but jumped in shock, almost spilling her peppermint hot chocolate, when Oliver cheered after a big first down play. "I have to admit," Rosalie smiled sheepishly, "I don't know anything about football."

Oliver laughed as he settled back onto the couch. "You don't say."

She grinned wryly. "My dad wasn't very into sports. But any musical trivia, and I've got it."

He pulled her closer into his side. "Okay, so the first thing you have to know if that we always root for the Lions."

She laughed. "Okay, got that prerequisite."

"Actually," declared Oliver as he waved over a maid, "could you run to my room and grab two Lions sweatshirts? You can just ask Anderson. He'll know what you mean."

He continued to explain the game to her until the maid returned with requested sweatshirts. "Alright," declared Oliver as he helped her tug the sweatshirt on, "this is an important part. You're being initiated into the fan club."

"This feels like a lot of pressure," fretted Rosalie as she rolled up the sleeves on Oliver's sweatshirt, which was far too big for her. She looked cute with the giant sweater over her somewhat formal day dress.

"Mostly, just cheer when I cheer," Oliver suggested.

They spent the next hour and a half watching the game. Although she occasionally got the teams mixed up, Rosalie was a good sport about the ordeal. She tolerated Oliver's outbursts well—"why the hell would you try to pass on fourth and one when you have a money running back?!"—and remained eternally optimistic throughout the game, even when they were down by two scores. She even caught on to the rules that Oliver briefly explained to her throughout the game much better than Oliver would have expected.

Oliver's blood pressure was climbing by the time the game went into overtime. "This is the worst," he moaned as he buried his head in his hands. "We're going to lose."

"We're tied!" protested Rosalie. He liked the way she'd taken to her new fan status, using words like 'we' when she referred to the team.

"It's all over!" insisted Oliver. "We're so bad."

"We're 4-1 on the season!"

"It's all downhill from here!"

"Shut up and cheer with me!"

Oliver froze, a little shocked at being told to shut up by Rosalie. He studied her face, eyes bright with excitement and hope behind her glasses. "You're right," he decided. "Let's go Lions!"

They clasped hands as they watched the Lions march down the field in an impressive drive. Oliver didn't doubt Rosalie's newfound dedication to the game as her fingers crushed his. The game came down to a third-and-goal play by the Lion's offense, during which Oliver didn't breathe once.

As he watched the receiver snag the ball out of the air, both he and Rosalie jumped to their feet and cheered. "We did it!" beamed Rosalie.

She turned to hug Oliver, who swept her off her feet and swung her in an excited circle that made Rosalie laugh. "You must be good luck," declared Oliver once he'd placed her back on the ground, his hands resting casually on her waist.

Rosalie looked nervous. "Must be." A little more boldly, she added, "You should probably keep me around a little longer. You know, for the Lions."

Oliver laughed. "For the Lions," he agreed. He pulled her a little closer and was about to lean down to kiss her when he felt a hand on his chest that snapped his eyes open again.

Rosalie looked apologetic and a little frantic. "I'm sorry," she began worriedly, "I don't want you to think—I do really like you, I just—"

"Hey," Oliver laughed, "Don't worry. It's fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked, chewing her lower lip. "I just… take things a bit slower than some of the others."

"A hundred percent," Oliver assured her, "Slow is fine. This has been a great day. Couldn't ask for anything better."

Her uncertainty disappeared. "I'm glad," she admitted, "I just kind of wanted to show you that I care about you,

and I'm here for you. You do a lot for all of us."

"I appreciate that." Oliver eased back onto the couch. "I don't actually get asked how I'm doing a lot."

Rosalie settled onto the couch cross-legged. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here," she offered.

And maybe it was the comfort food or how they'd bonded over one of his favorite things, but Oliver suddenly found himself telling her everything. He told her how insecure he'd felt when he'd found out Isolde preferred his brother, how he was worried about Nikolai and Regan, even how he'd stupidly taken Kaitlyn to Likely and gotten her hurt. Rosalie listened to everything patiently and with a contained reaction.

When Oliver finished, all Rosalie said was, "Wow."

"Yeah," nodded Oliver. He exhaled deeply. It was good to have everything off his chest. It wasn't that he held everything in—he'd told Tristan and Elijah and even Rafael about certain things. But to be able to confide everything in one person was a new sort of relief.

Rosalie anxiously tugged on one of the strings of her Lion's sweater. "What?" Oliver asked, easily able to tell that there was something she was concealing.

"Well… you just shouldn't be too hard on yourself," she declared. "You just sound like you really blame yourself, like with Kaitlyn and Isolde. And yeah, sometimes you make, uh, rash decisions, but you can't take on responsibility for the whole world."

Oliver sighed. "One of the downfalls of being prince is that I actually am responsible for a portion of the world though."

"That doesn't mean that everything that goes wrong is your fault," argued Rosalie. "Yeah, you're the prince, but you're just a person, not a superhero."

"That you know of," Oliver challenged jokingly.

Rosalie rolled her eyes affectionately. "You know what I mean."

"So, any suggestions on how to go forward?" asked Oliver.

Rosalie shrugged her small shoulders. "Forgive yourself for Kaitlyn for starters," she suggested, "She's going to be okay. She's been racing around the halls on that scooter that the doctor gave her, so she's doing just fine."

Oliver snorted at the mental image. "Alright. I can try."

"And maybe get in contact with your brother," she added. "I know it seems like it might be easier to have some space apart while things settle down, but you guys are going to be very in each other's lives for the rest of your lives. This happened, and yes, it wasn't easy. But maybe focus on moving forward and building the future."

Oliver nodded. It made sense. "Anything on Nikolai and Regan?"

But to his disappointment, Rosalie laughed derisively. "Sorry, my sage wisdom doesn't apply to psychopaths."

Oliver laughed. "Understandable," he sighed. "Maybe someday I'll find some genius who knows how to handle the crazies."

"I wish you the best of luck with that," sniggered Rosalie.

"I think I might take your advice on the second one at least," Oliver admitted, his phone feeling hot in his pocket.

Rosalie nodded. "Thanks for the chance to plan today. I had a lot of fun. Even if I still think your diet is a one-way ticket to a heart attack." She started to tug off her Lion's sweatshirt, but Oliver stopped her.

"Keep it," he instructed, "It looks good on you. I expect to hear you cheering them on from here on out."

"Alright," Rosalie agreed with a smile, "Who knew I would kind of like football?"

"Glad I could get you out of your artistic box." Oliver walked her back to her room before he headed towards his own quarters and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

Like always, Tristan was speed dial number one. Oliver pressed the button and waited somewhat nervously as the other line rang. Finally, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

Isolde.

His mouth was dry. "Hey," he responded, his voice a little higher pitched than he would've liked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How are you?"

"I'm good," responded Isolde, "Uh, how are you?"

"Good, good." An awkward silence settled between the two. "How are… things… going?"

Isolde laughed. "Really well," she admitted, "We actually just got done watching the Lions game, so Tristan's taking a nap. I don't think I've ever seen him so into something."

Oliver laughed. "Yeah, we used to get into fights when we were little about who was the bigger fan," he admitted. "Did he have a heart attack during OT?"

"Yes!" confirmed Isolde. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack between the stress and all of the fried food that he'd ordered."

Oliver chuckled. "Same old Tristan."

"I guess so." He could hear Isolde's smile over the line. "It's really good to hear from you, Ol. Tristan is coming back for your mother's jubilee next week, so I was hoping we'd hear from you before then."

Oliver was about to respond when he realized what Isolde had said. "Just Tristan coming back?" he asked, surprised that his mom would be alright with having the newest member of the royal family stay away.

Isolde sounded hesitant. "I don't want to make things harder," she admitted.

And in that moment, Oliver realized just how right Rosalie had been and that he was being a little ridiculous. "Oh, stop," he ordered. "We're going to be together forever, the three of us. Well, four when I finally figure out who I'm going to marry, but you get it. We're family, Isolde. Come home. Don't tell Tristan, but I kind of miss you guys."

She was silent for a minute before she agreed. "Alright. We miss you too."

They chatted for a little longer. Tristan woke up towards the tail end of the conversation, and the brothers had a quick conversation about the Lions before they hung up. If Tristan was surprised by Oliver's sudden generosity, he didn't bring it up. Oliver found that he was significantly more excited than he thought he'd be to have the pair back next week.

One of the things that lingered in his mind though after he'd hung up the phone was how easily Tristan and Isolde had become a _we_. When he'd spoken to both of them, they'd used the pronoun interchangeably, rarely talking about themselves as separate entities.

He wanted that. He wanted to be a 'we'.

Granted, he supposed he was a 'we' with all the Selected at the moment, but it wasn't the same. That felt like more of an _us_. It didn't have the same intimacy as a 'we'.

The thoughts swirled in his head as he stared out the French doors that led to his balcony. It was a particularly stormy day, and the rain hadn't let up since morning. It splattered against the windows rhythmically, creating a lulling sound that relaxed Oliver.

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he'd traded the slippers Rosalie had given him for his shoes. "Are you leaving, Your Highness?" Anderson asked. He'd been picking up random articles of clothing that Oliver had managed to scatter around his room.

"Yeah," confirmed Oliver, "Just out for a little bit."

Since the trip to Likely, Anderson had seemed to shy from asking about Oliver's excursions. It was better for his blood pressure that way. As such, he didn't hassle the prince as he made his way from the room.

It was the kind of rain that instantly plastered hair and clothes to the body. It fell in unrelenting sheets, creating a wall of rain that danced over his body and blurred Oliver's vision but didn't altogether bother him. He let the droplets soak through his sweater, ruin the Italian leather shoes that Rafael had gifted him last Christmas, drip from the tips of his fingers.

He'd always liked the rain, though perhaps not as much as his grandfather and grandmother who had an interesting habit of dancing in the downpour together on rainy days. They'd often welcomed Oliver to join them as a child, until he'd caught a pneumonia once. It was his first major illness as a child, constituting a week-long attendance by their palace doctor, and his mother had panicked and forbidden him from playing in the rain any longer. Whether the rain had caused his sickness or not, it had become Eadlyn's scapegoat.

As he strolled through the gardens, he caught sight of a small figure huddled under one of the enormous weeping willows on the grounds. He had to squint to be sure, but the bright green eyes confirmed it was Mae, and he raised his hand in greeting. She yelled something to him, but he couldn't hear her over the rain. "What?" he barked back.

She laughed and cupped her hands around her mouth. "I said, what are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Walking."

"It's pouring!"

"Really?" He glanced around, squinting through the rain. "I hadn't noticed."

She rolled her eyes but didn't reply, instead returning her attention to a book that was in her lap. Oliver approached her tree. She was dry under the heavy foliage of the tree, clad in a black cropped shirt and a white skirt with black polka dots while a blanket hugged her shoulders. It was a casual outfit for Mae, but her glossy hair cascaded in flawless waves, and her red lipstick highlighted the perfect shape of her mouth, and altogether, the effect rendered Oliver speechless for a moment. He swallowed deeply before he found his voice. "What are you doing?" He ducked under the branches so that they could talk without having to yell over the storm.

She quirked an amused eyebrow but barely glanced up from the book in her lap. "Reading."

"Under a tree in the middle of a rainstorm?" he asked. Mae blushed slightly but didn't respond, which caused Oliver to laugh. "Did you get trapped by the rain?" he surmised.

"Of course not," she countered, closing her book with a snap. "I just decided to wait until it stopped."

Oliver grinned in amusement and nodded at her book. "What are you reading?"

She held up the book. "Idées républicaines."

"Voltaire?" Oliver laughed once more. "No wonder you're reading it outside."

Mae's eyes widened, as though she hadn't realized the controversial stance of the book she'd picked. Since the more lenient reigns of Oliver's grandfather and mother, many books had been liberated from forbidden lists, but government critical pieces were a bit taboo. "Am I not allowed?" she asked, biting her lip in a manner that Oliver found adorable.

Oliver reached out to take the book from her and leafed through it for a moment. He laughed when he realized that the copy she had was published in its original language. "Mae, you're reading it in French," Oliver pointed out, impressed, "I doubt few people would even realize what it is. Even my mother's French isn't particularly good, and her brother is the country's consort for god's sake."

The tense set of her shoulders relaxed. "But," continued Oliver, "I do have to ask. You have some fairly intimate knowledge of the government by now. Share Voltaire's views?"

Mae smiled teasingly. "'Opinion has caused more trouble on this little earth than plagues or earthquakes,'" she quoted in response.

Being around Mae always felt a little intoxicating. He was always tempted to be as close to her as possible, to drink in the essence of what made her so special. He forced himself to fight the almost unconscious feeling and lingered near the edge of the tree's shelter as he asked, "Is opinion what made you throw the Queen's Quarrel?"

The light smile slipped from Mae's face. "I'm… not sorry," she admitted, which was enough confirmation for Oliver. "I think generally this experience has really changed what I thought about a lot of things. You, your mother, the monarchy in general. But I'd be lying if I said that I liked the queen's role."

For a moment, Oliver was wounded. "That's part of the bargain though," he pointed out.

"I know." She focused her gaze on her hands.

Oliver hesitated before he declared, "If that's something that you or any of the girls, for that matter, can't do… Then I need to make a decision, no matter how hard it might be."

Almost immediately, her eyes jumped back to his, but Oliver wasn't encouraged. There was no apology or retraction behind the beautiful irises. He swallowed deeply but felt a little speechless. Of all the girls he'd expected to be scared away by the daunting possibility of being queen, Mae was one of the last that he would have guessed. He guessed that probably made it hurt worse. Without another word, he ducked under the tree, back into the downpour, and turned towards the castle.

Her voice stopped him, and he turned to find her drenched by the elements as well, her eyes blazing. "I don't like the queen's role because it feels like a waste," she explained, her voice raised over the din of the torrent, "I want to help people, not just be a pretty face that gets put on a stamp. It seems like a queen could do so much good, but to hear that she gets one project and is then just here to give the country an heir was a bit of a letdown."

Their faces were so close when she stopped that Oliver could see the different shades of green in her eyes. "I would do it though," she admitted in a whisper that he could barely hear over the pounding raindrops, "If you asked me to."

His resolve to keep his distance and focus on the important discussion broke, and before he was fully aware of it, one of his hands had pulled her to him while the other tangled in her luscious brown waves. "Something tells me you don't need to be a queen to impact people," murmured Oliver.

She studied his face for a long moment before she noted, "I like the way you see me."

He'd been prepared to kiss her when a thought popped into his head, a quote he hadn't fully understood when he'd read it a long time ago during some tedious lesson. Now, it seemed to make sense. "I don't just see you," he countered, prompting a look of confusion in response. "'It is not sufficient to see and to know the beauty of a work. We must feel and be affected by it.'"

His hazel eyes searched her face and waited for confirmation that she got what he'd been trying to express, but she seemed stunned. "You affect me," shrugged Oliver simply, thinking of the need to be near her that her presence evoked in him.

This time, Oliver didn't get the chance to kiss her, because Mae's hands fisted in his sweater and pulled him to her with a fervor that surprised him. It took Oliver a moment to jolt back to life, but his arms soon snaked around her waist, crushing her body to his as her legs wrapped around his waist to facilitate the process. Mae's hands slowly roamed up his chest, eliciting a shiver from Oliver, until they wrapped around his neck. Their lips moved in synchrony to an imaginary beat that only they seemed attuned to.

Each of his senses felt like it was electrified. Any chill that accompanied the rain was smothered by the searing fire that surged through Oliver's body. He was hyper-aware of how soaked they were, their clothes plastered to their bodies and allowing them to squeeze closer. Above the smell of the storm, he could smell her shampoo, her perfume, _her—_ all smells he was convinced he'd be able to recognize anywhere. The surging clamor of the storm combined with the sound of his heartbeat made it impossible for him to hear Mae's massive gasp for air until she'd pulled away. Oliver, on the other hand, didn't need oxygen. He was being fueled by something completely different than air, and he pressed his lips to her neck while she struggled to pull herself back together.

She allowed herself to revel in the feel of his hot breath on her throat for a moment, until she leaned away from him to put some space between the two of them, even though her legs and his arms were still anchoring them together. "Sorry," muttered Oliver, a little nervously.

"What for?" smirked Mae. She kissed him once more—though much more reservedly—before she returned her feet to the ground.

A clap of lightning startled them both, and Oliver suggested, "Back to the tree," before he tugged her along with him.

They settled under the heavy brush. "I don't think this is safe," chuckled Mae, although she settled near the tree trunk with him.

"Me neither," agreed Oliver, although he wasn't talking about the tree or storm. He was desperately trying not to take note of the way that her wet clothes clung to every curve of her body.

He noticed that Mae was smiling at him in a way that made Oliver self-conscious. "What?" he asked cautiously, nervous that she'd caught his wandering eye.

"Nothing," she shrugged, "I just realized that your hair is curlier than I thought."

Oliver tried to flatten it down. "I usually put stuff in it," he mumbled embarrassedly.

Mae caught one of his hands, her fingers entwining with his. "I like it," she added simply.

"I like you," Oliver responded swiftly.

She laughed again as he pulled her against his chest. They settled there together, Mae's back leaning against Oliver while he leaned against the tree, the blanket that she'd brought with her wrapped around their drenched shoulders. Oliver nodded at her book. "Read it to me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You can read it yourself," she reminded him, as he had an adequate mastery of the language as well.

"Yes," agreed Oliver as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, "But I like listening to you."

It was a bit cheesy but seemed to be a good enough reason for Mae. She picked up the book and began to read aloud in commendable French. The two sat under the tree until the storm had ended, the sky began to darken in anticipation of night, and Jonathan was sent to collect them.


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note:** Another long chapter that took forever. My apologies. Thanks for the continued support :)

* * *

"A show pony."

Margaery's eyebrows quirked, as though she didn't fully understand Oliver's statement. Her eyes settled on him in the mirror of her vanity. "What?"

"A show pony," Oliver repeated as he stretched out on the couch in the sitting area of her bedroom. "That's what I feel like most of the time."

The confused set of her face relaxed into an almost apologetic expression that made Oliver quickly backtrack. "I mean, it's fine," he shrugged, "It's part of the job. But it's nice to not have to be… 'on.'"

He'd been 'on' all morning, and it left him feeling a little exhausted. The Silver Jubilee had kicked off earlier with the parade, which hadn't been too bad. Most of the attention had been on his mother, who had truly felt the pressure of the event. The jubilee had seemed to renew public interest in the royal family, and the fascination had been at an all-time high all week, complimented by interviews, special television programs, and constant news coverage.

Generally, Oliver realized that people truly loved his mother. Her reign had been good for them. She'd increased the amount of involvement that people had in the government through province elections, even if she hadn't been able to fully fulfill her hopes for a constitutional monarchy. Kile had improved support for the impoverished throughout the nation. Under the queen and her consort, Illéa had almost forgotten the suffering of the earlier Schreave rulers.

But with the coverage came increased criticism. There were general expressions that the queen hadn't done _enough_. There were still doubts about her decision to support him as her heir instead of Tristan. There were questions of the legitimacy of Marid's claim to the throne.

And then there were just the ridiculous accusations. There had been an 'exclusive' the previous night with a woman who claimed to be Oliver's childhood nanny. He'd racked his brain and determined that he'd never seen the lady before, a belief that was only reaffirmed when she began to express how the queen was an uninvolved mother who had only ever held her son for official portraits when he was young and sufficiently ignored her other children.

One of Oliver's strengths was that he could often shake off criticism quite easily. But Eadlyn had never been as successful in that area. She'd been a nervous wreck before the parade this morning, which his father had explained was related to a parade during her own Selection that had ended in a unilateral food fight between the people and the royals. But as soon as the procession had commenced, Eadlyn had been on as well: smiling, waving, the picture of poise and strength.

And that's when he'd realized they were show ponies. It didn't matter how they felt, just how they looked.

The parade had lasted for two hours, and because of the early start time, most of the palace had fallen into silence to rest up before the masquerade ball that night. Oliver had tossed and turned in his bed for a short time before he realized that he wouldn't be able to sleep and had decided to seek out Margaery. He'd woken her from her own nap, but when he'd offered to leave, she'd pulled him into the room.

Now, she seemed to muse over his words as she tugged a brush through her long, reddish brown hair. "Obviously, I can't imagine what it feels like to have the entire country looking at you," she allowed, "but I know what you mean about being on."

"Yeah?" asked Oliver. He realized he didn't know too much about Margaery's background, which was surprising considering he felt like he knew her as a person well.

Margaery's gaze moved from Oliver to her own reflection, and he guessed it was something she didn't like to talk about. "I think when your family's in any kind of position of power or notoriety, people are going to talk," she admitted. "It's always a question of whether you're enough: pretty enough, sweet enough, well-behaved enough, polite enough, personable enough. And you have to do all of that while being interesting enough and warm but not too inviting."

Oliver lifted his head from the pillow that he'd been laying on and blinked in surprise. "Yeah."

She set down her hairbrush and crossed to the couch. "There are definitely downfalls to coming from a powerful family," she decided as she sat down near him.

He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. "If you're looking for easier, I'm not sure this is the right place," he pointed out. "Complexities aside, I'm sure it's easier to be a rich Seymour than a royal Schreave."

Margaery's face melted into her crooked smile. "It'd be easier to be a royal Schreave than to say goodbye to you."

Her reassurance made Oliver grin, and he reached out to pull her into his chest. "So, what are you being for the masquerade tonight?"

"You'll see," Margaery demurred teasingly. "I'm excited for tonight though. I've never been to a masquerade."

"Me either," admitted Oliver as he absentmindedly dragged his fingers through Margaery's long hair. He hesitated for a moment before he added, "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Always."

It took him a moment to figure out how to phrase it. Finally, he explained, "I took some liberties with the guest list."

If she was surprised, she took it in stride. "What kind of liberties?"

Oliver decided to start with the less controversial invite. "Your brother."

"Official business?" she asked, her excitement clear.

Oliver nodded. "I wanted to meet in person, but there's a lot of questions whenever I invite someone to the palace, especially when they're in your family's field. I thought this weekend would give us a good chance to regroup without drawing too much attention."

"Yes, the masks do seem to be a good cover for that," noted Margaery. "Who else though? I hope my brother doesn't still make you this nervous."

He laughed. "No, he doesn't," he agreed. He took a deep breath before he spat it out in a rush: "IsortofinvitedAlaricIlléa."

Her reaction was not controlled this time. She sat up and turned to meet his gaze directly. " _Who_?"

"Uh… Alaric Illéa," repeated Oliver. "He's sort of Marid's—"

"I know who he is," countered Margaery, "I think the part that I'm a little surprised on is the 'what the heck are you thinking'?"

To explain the thought process that prompted the decision would've taken entirely too long. "It's complicated," he offered lamely. There was another invite that had been nagging at his brain, but Margaery's concerned reaction to Alaric made him unwilling to share. He'd invited the guest purely out of concern for a friend, but the more he considered it, he realized that it seemed suspicious.

He sighed and pulled her back towards him. "Everything is complicated," he declared, "Let's just be simple for a little while longer."

They spent the next hour on her couch talking about trivialities. He found out that she enjoyed writing and was actually an impressive singer, even if she seemed self-conscious about her voice. She asked about his favorite movies—which Oliver thought was a bit of a silly question but answered regardless. They didn't have any earth moving conversations, but Oliver enjoyed being able to sit there with her in his arms and focus on nothing other than the feeling of being together.

They'd lapsed into a light sleep by the time Jonathan came to get him, and Oliver worked his hardest to entangle himself without waking Margaery. "Has her plane landed?" he whispered to Jonathan as they made their way down the Selected's hall. He didn't have time to be held up by a surprise encounter.

"About a half hour away," responded his guard.

Although security measures had been increased due to the jubilee, Oliver took only Jonathan and a driver with him to the airstrip, a party that he still felt was a little too large for what he hoped remained a discreet trip. "We should learn to drive," he mused to Jonathan as he watched the small, Illéan plane bump along the runway.

"Absolutely not," countered Jonathan. "You think I don't know how much of a headache you learning to drive would be for me? It'd be a constant man hunt to figure out where you've snuck off to."

Oliver grinned, realizing that his guard was not wrong. A moment later, the plane came to a halt a short distance from there, and before Oliver could even take two steps toward it, Jonathan's arm caught him in the chest. "It hasn't been cleared," Jonathan pointed out.

"Oh, come on," laughed Oliver, "I sent the damn plane."

But he could see in Jonathan's face that the bigger man wasn't convinced, so Oliver held up his hands in defeat and leaned against the car while Jonathan swept the plane. Ten minutes later, he emerged with a lone figure, a smaller party than Oliver had anticipated.

Lady Sara Kosma was as beautiful as Oliver remembered, though dressed much more simply than she had been at any point during the Harvest Festival. She also looked simultaneously more relaxed without any Russian companions yet sadder, which Oliver had a feeling was related to the reason that he'd invited her in the first place. "Your Highness," she greeted him warmly before she curtsied.

Oliver ignored protocol and pulled her into a hug. At first, she seemed surprised by the sudden move, but after a moment, her arms tentatively enveloped his shoulders as well. "I'm so glad you decided to come," Oliver declared.

They parted, and he saw the sadness in her eyes more clearly as she explained, "Yes, well… you were right. I needed to get away."

Although he intended to press her on the situation at some point, Oliver decided it wasn't the moment, and instead noted, "It's freezing out here. Let's get back to the palace so you can relax a little before the masquerade."

Sara laughed, although she let Oliver open the car door for her. "This little breeze is nothing," she dismissed, "Angeles is a beach compared to Russia right now. We have four feet of snow."

"Another reason I would have to be forcibly restrained before I set foot in Russia," snorted Oliver.

When they arrived at the palace, Oliver showed her to her room personally, this time on the royal family's floor instead of on the second floor where she'd stayed with the rest of the Russian travel party during the Harvest Festival. Oliver lingered as she began to unpack, thoughts of Nikolai and Regan heavy on his mind. "You can ask me about it, you know," she informed him with a knowing smile.

"Well, firstly, I just did want to make sure that you really are okay," he admitted. "It can't be… easy."

Her eyes looked wistful, as though she were remembering a memory that wasn't altogether unpleasant. "You know we once planned to have children together?" she sighed, a reminiscent smile tugging at her lips. Oliver was admittedly surprised, as it seemed to be a bold thing to promise one's mistress.

"Not just children either," countered Sara, "Marriage. Nikolai and Sara Dragomirov." She scoffed at the memory now. "Even after Regan arrived… he promised." She shook her head, as though angry at herself for believing his lies.

Oliver chewed his lip. "So… it's true?"

Sara brushed off the emotions and became matter of fact as she began to unpack again. "She doesn't look it yet, but the palace doctor confirmed it weeks ago," she explained. She paused. "A boy, they say."

"That's what Alaric said," sighed Oliver. "It doesn't mean much though, does it?"

Sara shrugged her small shoulders. "His brother Vitaly has no children yet, so his son will be third in line for the throne."

"The tsarevich is healthy though, right?" Oliver asked, thinking of Nikolai's older brother. "I've heard he's in good shape."

"Yes," Sara nodded dismissively. She tossed a pile of clothes onto her bed and turned to Oliver, a soft smile on her beautiful face. "I want to thank you though. I don't think I've ever received a timelier invitation for a visit."

"Any time," Oliver reminded her as he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side for a quick squeeze. "So, what are you wearing to the masquerade tonight?"

Sara brightened, and she turned to one of her many suitcases. "You'll have to help me decide!" she declared, "I brought options."

'Options' was an understatement. With everything she'd brought, she could've attended ten masquerades, but she looked so happy as she showed Oliver different combinations that he didn't complain. They eventually settled on an outfit, and Oliver took dinner in her room with her, chatting as she began to get ready until he realized he had to begin preparation himself.

Because he'd spent so much time with Margaery and Sara, Oliver was unintentionally a little late for the ball. Tristan and Isolde stopped by his room before the ballroom, which he was grateful for as they both jumped into action to help the frazzled prince gather himself. Isolde had followed him around his room with a blow dryer as he'd buttoned his shirt, pulled on socks and shoes, and slid into his jacket. Tristan had deftly executed a perfect bow tie for him and located the elusive ruby heart shaped cuff links Oliver had ordered for his costume.

They both looked amused as he settled the heart shaped metal crown onto his freshly dried hair. "What's the matter?" Oliver frowned as he pinned a flower made of heart playing cards to his red suit jacket.

"Nothing," insisted Isolde with a pointed look at her fiancé, "You look nice."

Tristan, on the other hand, continued to smirk. Taking in the full outfit, he countered, "It's just kind of funny. King of Hearts? Really?"

Oliver grinned. "Hey, I thought it was fitting all things considered."

Isolde paused to adjust her mask in Oliver's mirror. She looked fantastic, dressed in a shimmering white gold dress that hugged her body. Her mask matched her dress perfectly and featured the graceful lines of a swan's profile and wing. If she was nervous about her first official event at Tristan's side, it didn't show. "Ready?"

"That's a better question for you," smirked Oliver. She ignored him, and the trio made their way towards the ballroom.

The masquerade was held in the largest and most ornate of the palace's ballrooms. The impossibly high ceiling was a work of art itself, with elaborate gilding, crown molding, and murals. From it descended thirteen enormous, fully lit chandeliers that cast a warm illumination throughout the room. There was only one standard wall in the room where the king and queen's thrones were sat, directly across from the grand staircase. In place of walls, the remainder of the room was paneled with glass, creating the most enormous windows that Oliver (or anyone else, he guessed) had ever seen.

He'd managed to convince his mother that announcements for the royal family were pointless, since it was supposed to be a masquerade. She'd realized too late that the idea of masked attendants made her uneasy, which was evidenced by the heightened number of guards patrolling the outskirts of the room, but she'd agreed to Oliver's point anyway.

For some, it didn't seem difficult to figure out who he was anyway. Almost as soon as he, Tristan, and Isolde joined the throng of people, a small figure zeroed in on Oliver. "Ollie!" He barely managed to prepare himself as his uncle Kaden's daughter, Amelie, rushed towards him.

He lifted the little princess into the air and settled her on his hip, which was somewhat difficult considering she was dressed in a child sized ball gown. She put her small arms around his neck and hugged him. Being the youngest of her generation of Schreave children, Amelie had always been doted upon by her older cousins, none more so than Oliver. "What's your costume, Amie?" Oliver asked, "The most beautiful princess in the world?"

Amelie giggled. "No, silly head," she countered, "I'm a snow queen!"

"Of course you are," agreed Oliver as he kissed her cheek. A flash of light caught his attention, and he glanced in its direction to find Patricia with her camera. She waved at him, and he smiled in return. She looked beautiful in a blue sea nymph outfit. The rest of the Elite were with her and seemed to be watching him and Amelie as well. "Want to meet some special people, Amie?" Oliver asked. She shrugged disinterestedly, causing Oliver to laugh. "I'll get you a piece of cake if you're nice to them," he bargained.

Amelie beamed and straightened her posture. "I'll meet them," she agreed.

"How generous of you." They approached the group. "Ladies," Oliver greeted them, "You all look incredible." He truly was impressed by the variation of their costumes.

Mae, who was dressed as a cat in a black dress that highlighted her incredible shape, grinned from behind her lacy black mask. "The King of Hearts?" she observed in amusement as she took in Oliver's costume.

"Along with my charming sidekick, the snow queen," Oliver declared as he nodded at Amelie. "Everyone, Princess Amelie. Amie, these are the Elite." He introduced them by name, and when he'd finished, they all bowed to the blood princess in accordance with protocol.

Amelie giggled, obviously pleased as she always did when people bowed to her. "Are these your girlfriends?" she asked Oliver, not bothering to lower her voice in the slightest.

The group chortled in response to her bold, childish inquiry. "Yes, I suppose so," confirmed Oliver.

"Well, which are you going to marry?" demanded Amelie as she glanced back at the girls.

This time, Oliver blushed when the girls laughed. "Uh, not sure yet," he muttered quickly. Amelie looked displeased by his inability to provide a specific answer, as Oliver rarely denied her anything, and he could tell that she was about to demand further explanation, so he suggested, "How about that cake now?"

Adequately distracted, Amelie nodded excitedly. Before Oliver could excuse himself though, she asked, "May Lady Kaitlyn get cake with me?" Her blue eyes settled on Kaitlyn, who was dressed in a pink gown decorated with feathers and a matching mask.

Kaitlyn looked surprised to be singled out by the princess, and Oliver laughed. "Yes, Lady Kaitlyn can come with us," he agreed.

But Amelie wasn't satisfied. "Not you too," she countered. " _Just_ Lady Kaitlyn."

This time, it was Oliver's turn to be displeased. "Why not me too?" he demanded. "I like cake too."

"Because you're a _boy_ ," was all Amelie's nonsensical response was. She began to squirm, so Oliver returned her to the ground. Without another glance at her cousin, Amelie excitedly took Kaitlyn's hand and pulled her towards the dessert table.

"What an ingrate," huffed Oliver. He turned to the remaining girls. "Do you see how I'm mistreated?"

"Poor Oliver," snickered Xylie, who was in a showy peacock gown and mask. "To be fair, you were never going to beat pink and feathery though." The group glanced in the direction of Amelie and Kaitlyn, who were seated at a table now. Amelie sat on Kaitlyn's lap, animatedly talking as she stroked the soft feathers on Kaitlyn's mask while the older girl held a neglected piece of cake for the princess.

Oliver sighed. "Oh well," he conceded, "She's got me there. A much more beautiful bird than I would've been anyway."

"I think we're all in agreement on that," teased Mae. Oliver retaliated by sticking his tongue out at her.

Before Mae could respond, a surprising voice captured Oliver's attention. Adelaide, standing on the edge of the little half circle, suggested, "Do you think maybe a dance would help your vanity?"

Oliver's attention jumped to the blonde girl, who usually didn't draw attention to herself. "You know, I think that just might be what I need to recover," he nodded. Adelaide beamed and held her hand out to him. "Excuse us, ladies," Oliver winked at the rest of the group.

"I like your costume," he complimented Adelaide as they turned about the floor.

Her face was partially concealed by her ornate venetian mask, which was silver with a moon decoration, but her smile was evident. "I've always wanted to go to a ball like this," she remarked, "It's like a fairytale. But I guess this whole process has been, so I'm not exactly surprised."

"Just don't get me confused with Prince Charming," chuckled Oliver.

Adelaide smiled warmly. "You don't give yourself enough credit," she retorted.

"You give me too much," laughed Oliver.

"I don't think so," she shook her head. "I just like to see the best in people." She paused before she added, "You know Cameron wrote me after she went home."

"Really?" Oliver asked, pleasantly surprised.

"I have a feeling that was partially your doing," she smiled, "And I just wanted to thank you. I'm not close with my family, so it's really nice to have a cousin to confide in now."

She was always so sweet, though differently than the other girls. Oliver doubted that Adelaide had ever had a single mean or dishonest thought in her life. "You deserve it," Oliver shrugged, "Family, happiness. A lot more."

"You've already given me so much happiness," she beamed up at him. Oliver smiled and pulled her a little closer. She rested her head contentedly on his shoulder while Oliver marveled over the knowledge that he could make someone as kind and sweet as Adelaide happy.

He grabbed a snack after their dance and made his way to an empty table. The refreshments weren't as good as they'd been when Delila had still been present but were still tasty. He'd gotten halfway through a prosciutto crostini when someone fell into the seat beside him.

It was Gabi. Her pink dress was decorated with multicolored butterflies with a corresponding mask, but she looked concerned behind the mask. "I need to talk to you about something," she fretted.

Oliver swallowed the crostini whole. "Okay," he agreed cautiously. "What's up?"

She tugged a strand of blonde hair nervously. "It's about what Madam Anastasia said on our date," she explained, "Do you remember what she said when I asked who the prince would marry?"

He nodded, thinking of how she'd given the description that matched both Gabi and Isolde. And suddenly, Oliver realized why Gabi was so worried. "You think she was talking about Tristan and Isolde," he concluded.

Gabi nodded worriedly, and Oliver couldn't help it, but he laughed as he reached for her hand. "Gabi, you can't get caught up on that stuff," he insisted, "It'll drive you crazy. It could've meant a million things."

"I just… I guess I haven't seen you a lot lately," Gabi continued. She suddenly became extremely interested with one of the butterflies on her dress, avoiding Oliver's gaze. "So, if you don't… you know, if you don't feel anything—"

He put a hand under her chin, forcing her eyes to his. "Don't give up on me yet," he requested, "I know I haven't seen you much lately, and I plan on changing that soon."

The concerned face slowly relaxed. "Okay," she smiled, visible reassured. "I know you have a lot going on, it's just really hard not to get freaked out."

"You definitely don't need to be freaking out," Oliver assured her. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room, and when he realized none of the other Elite were paying them any attention, he gave Gabi a brief kiss. Although he was always worried about being too affectionate with them in large groups, he was glad he'd taken the risk when she gave him a beaming smile before they parted.

"You're going to get yourself into trouble doing that," a voice chided him.

He turned around to see Everly and Elijah standing behind him. Everly was dressed in an iridescent dress and mask, and Oliver realized in amusement that Elijah's dress matched his cousin. "When did you guys get back?" he demanded excitedly as he hugged them both.

"A couple of hours ago," Everly explained. "We stopped by your room, but Anderson said you were with a, uh, guest."

"Got a new girlfriend that we don't know about?" Elijah taunted.

"No," laughed Oliver, "it was actually…" He trailed off as he spied the subject of their conversation appeared at the foot of the staircase. Sara had decided on a red dress and mask with a band of roses crowning her dark hair. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and her face lit up when she noticed Oliver. She waved tentatively, and he motioned to her to join him.

Everly looked shocked. "Isn't that Nikolai's—"

"Lady Sara," Oliver corrected her with a warning glance at his cousin.

"Uh, what is she doing here though?" Elijah asked.

"I invited her," shrugged Oliver.

"Did you also help her pick an outfit that matched yours perfectly?" Everly demanded. A concerned frown marred her usually laid back face.

He hadn't realized it earlier, but they were both clad in red and looked like a bit of a set. Oliver shrugged it off. "It's not a big deal."

"Tell that to them," Everly smirked as she nodded across the room. Oliver followed her gaze and realized that Kaitlyn, Xylie, Rosalie, and Patricia were all staring in his and Sara's direction, looking confused.

As Sara drew closer, Elijah put a hand on the small of Everly's back. "We'll, uh, catch up later," he decided before he guided the fiery French princess away.

Oliver shook off the disapproval as he turned to greet Sara. "You clean up nice," he complimented.

"As do you," she laughed. "Thank you for inviting me again."

"Always," he assured her. "Hey, what do you think about…"

He trailed off as a glint of gold caught his eye. His mother had dressed as a dragon for the ball, which he and his father had found amusing but fitting. Her dress was gold with scale-like decorations, and the jeweler had designed a gold scale mask that coordinated perfectly.

But she wasn't the only gold dragon in the room.

As soon as Oliver spied the mask, he knew who was concealed behind it. His temper flared as he watched the man in the dragon mask walk up to his mother, bow, and offer his hand. Eadlyn glanced to Kile at her left. But her husband gave an acquiescing shrug, as he was expected to, and the dragon swept her onto the dance floor.

"Are you all right?"

He didn't answer Sara's question but instead took her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. She seemed momentarily surprised, but she quickly recovered as Oliver launched into a waltz. "What's the matter?" she demanded, her calculating gaze clearly aware that something was bothering him.

"Marid," was all Oliver responded as he tried to navigate them closer to the dancing dragons. Neither was giving much away, but Oliver could tell that they were talking about something that he needed to hear.

Sara's concerned eyes hopped from the prince to where his mother was dancing. A small frown formed between her eyebrows, and Oliver felt her take the lead in their dance. Adeptly, she pulled him towards the middle of the floor, only momentarily pausing to give a ditzy smile and apologize in Russian when she bumped someone. They wrote it off as a foreign quirk and paid her little heed. Moments later, they were close enough that Oliver could hear the tense undertones of the conversation.

She said nothing but maintained the lead so Oliver could focus on eavesdropping. "I hear congratulations are in order," Eadlyn ground out.

"Whatever do you mean, dear Eady?" purred Marid silkily.

"Your _grandson_." Oliver missed a step in his dance. Part of him wondered how his mother knew, as he hadn't mentioned his conversation with Alaric, but he wasn't surprised. It would've been foolish for Eadlyn to not be informed on what was going on with an ally as tenuous as Russia.

"Oh, yes," smirked the Illéa patriarch.

"How convenient for you," she commented with a mirthless chuckle.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Eady," Marid demurred. It had always bothered Oliver that Marid had employed the same nickname for his mother as his father did. He had a feeling from the tense set of Eadlyn's back that she felt similarly.

He didn't realize he'd started to turn towards the pair until Sara guided his right hand back to a proper waltz hold, her knuckles white from the strain of containing him. The distraction momentarily tore him away from his mother's conversation, and when he turned his attention back to it, he caught the tail end of a question: "…when are you going to give up?"

Marid stopped dancing at the same time as Oliver, leaving both Sara and Eadlyn glancing around to see if anyone had taken notice of the tense exchange in the middle of the dance floor. "Never," he hissed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think your son and I have an appointment."

jOliver had grabbed the older man's arm almost before he'd finished speaking, to Eadlyn's horror. Marid, on the other hand, only seemed amused. "Your temper precedes you, _Your Highness,_ " Marid chortled tauntingly.

"Shut up," ordered Oliver. He led Marid across the room towards an atrium behind his parents' thrones, slamming the door behind him.

The little alcove was usually only used by the royal family during balls. There was a small couch, a vanity with various hair and makeup products, and a cart that held the family's favorite foods. Celine's earlier presence in the room was evident by the discarded tiara that she'd left on the vanity, which Eadlyn would scold her for when she noticed. Marid picked up the tiara and examined it, a hungry edge gleaming behind his hollow eyes.

There was a beat of silence in which Marid ran a single long finger over each of the jewels in the tiara, and Oliver struggled to rein in his temper. He was still fuming from the way that Marid had so openly and disrespectfully taunted his mother, but his pride told him not to let the older man know how much he'd gotten to him. Finally, Marid tossed the tiara carelessly back onto the vanity.

"Not the most articulate Schreave, are you?" remarked Marid as he turned towards Oliver. He crossed his arms over his chest and casually took a seat on the edge of the dressing table. His face looked bored, as if disappointed by his new rival.

Oliver didn't respond instantly. After a moment of thought, he realized it was the first time that he'd ever been alone with Marid Illéa, and as he examined the man that he'd imagined as a looming, dangerous villain, he wasn't as intimidated as he thought he'd be. Marid's age was obviously getting to him in a way that Eadlyn's had yet to: his hair had begun to gray at the sides, his face deeply lined, and his frame was thinner than was flattering.

Marid Illéa had spent a lifetime trying to undermine Oliver's family. He dealt in schemes and threats, constantly trying to undermine the Schreaves. He was the first to criticize them, to try to whip the country into an anti-monarch frenzy, to remind the world of any mistake anyone in the Schreave genealogy had ever made.

But now, face to face with him, Oliver realized that Marid was washed up. His son wanted none of his deviousness, and his biggest bargaining chip, his daughter, had been sold into a marriage with a second son who would never have the power to help Marid overtake the Schreaves.

"I just realized something," Oliver declared, a slow smile playing over his features.

Marid snorted derisively. "This should be good. I've heard tales of your intellectual prowess."

The taunt did nothing to fan the previous fiery anger that Oliver had managed to reduce to a single flame. "You don't scare me," he announced, smile widening.

The frown lines around Marid's eyes hardened for the briefest second before his pale face regained its control. "Your first mistake, my prince."

Part of Oliver wanted to laugh at how desperately Marid worked to make it seem like he had any control over the royal family. Hadn't Oliver faced scandals before and managed to regain the trust of the country? What could Marid do that would be much worse? So, Oliver decided to give the older man a taste of his own taunting. "I had a pleasant conversation with Alaric recently," he explained loftily as he made himself comfortable on the arm of the couch. "You probably don't know—he said you don't speak much—but he's here this weekend at my invitation."

Oliver was a little disappointed when Marid laughed sharply. "Do you want my congratulations for winning over the most ineffectual member of the family?" he inquired. Oliver was a little thrown by Marid's blatant dismissal of his son, and Marid smirked in the silence. "Now, Regan," he began as he crossed to the cart and began to prepare himself a cup of tea, "She was always the star. She was seven the first time she told me she wanted to be queen." He stared away wistfully, as though recalling the moment.

"Now," continued Marid as he turned back to Oliver and sipped his tea delicately, "Imagine my surprise when she showed me the ring you'd given her and decided she'd be happy as the wife of a Schreave. I'll admit, I underestimated you, Oliver." He took a final sip before he tossed the cup and saucer over his shoulder. They exploded upon contact with the wood floor, soaking the edge of the cream rug with brown liquid.

A dark, snake-like sneer turned up the corners of Marid's mouth as he promised, "I won't make that mistake again."

The guarantee might've made a less confident—or smarter—man uneasy, but in an act that surprised them both, Oliver laughed. "You're running out of moves," he declared dismissively, "Checkmates in sight."

It was true. Oliver was no longer the embarrassing playboy whose drunken escapades were splattered across magazine covers. He'd run a fairly popular Selection thus far, and no matter who he chose, the public were enamored with their potential queen. His approval ratings were higher than ever, and praise was being heaped on his recent appointments of Tristan and Elijah to his eventual council.

He was going to be okay. The crown wasn't Marid's to take anymore.

But the older man did not look discouraged. "Oliver." He lips pulled back over his teeth in a dangerous smile as he approached the prince, only stopping when they were less than an arm's length away from each other. "We haven't even begun to play."

Marid straightened the metal crown on Oliver's head, smiled absentmindedly, and remarked, "One day, when you're sitting in a cell, a defeated figurehead, everyone you've ever loved gone, watching as I raise Illéa from ashes… you'll understand." Then, he winked at the prince and disappeared back into the ballroom.

It took a minute for the chill to work its way down Oliver's spine. He tried to shake the feeling off as best as he could and gave himself to the count of ten before he forced himself to leave the room. Marid would be watching, he realized, and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that Oliver was rattled.

The ballroom was the same as he'd left it, full of life and exuberance. Everyone was completely oblivious to the tense exchange that plagued Oliver's mind.

Luckily, he wasn't alone for long. "Are you alright?" He jumped at the voice but exhaled when he realized it was Margaery, clad in a fur caped silver grown, bejeweled animal ears, and corresponding mask. She took his hand, and although he couldn't tell for sure because of the silver mask that shielded the upper half of her face, she seemed concerned. "You're shaking," she commented. Her grip on his hand tightened in response.

"I'm fine," he muttered distractedly.

"Oliver." Her tone revealed that she wasn't convinced, but he shook his head. "Why don't we go talk about it somewhere?" she suggested.

"No," Oliver countered. He forced a smile that left Margaery even more perplexed. "Just… dance with me, okay?"

She agreed and forced a smile of her own, though he was sure it looked much more genuine than his. It was bright and dazzling, and as they stepped onto the dance floor, she looked positively delighted. "Now will you tell me what's going on?" she asked softly, quiet enough that no one close by would be able to hear.

"Complications of the job," Oliver answered vaguely, "We're in show pony mode again."

"Is it Marid?" she pressed, her delighted smile still glowing upon her face. "I saw him leave shortly before you did."

Oliver spontaneously twirled her in hopes of discouraging her questions. Although the motion elicited a genuine giggle, she still looked inquisitive when she returned to his arms. "Yes," he sighed.

Her eyes practically held question marks, but she refrained from asking anything further. "Alaric arrived a short time ago," she remarked instead.

This was something that Oliver was far more interested in discussing rather than Marid. "Really?" he asked as he glanced around. "Where?" And then, a worse thought. He swallowed deeply before he added, "Do you think my mother knows?"

"No," Margaery answered, "If she does, she hasn't spoken with him yet. He's in the white mask and gray suit."

Oliver dropped their dance posture. "Okay, game plan," he declared, "I need you to go find your brother. Then find my brother and Isolde. Have them all meet me in my study."

"Sure," nodded Margaery, "Shouldn't be hard considering we're all wearing masks."

Oliver laughed briefly, kissed her cheek as an expression of his appreciation, and then made his way through the crowd to where Alaric was. The younger Illéa stood near the wall and looked uncomfortable as his eyes scanned the crowd. "Alaric!"

He jumped and stared at the prince for a second before recognition flashed across his face. "Oliver?"

The prince grinned. "Glad you could make it."

Alaric blinked slowly. "Well, it seemed rude to decline after all of your invitations," he admitted, "All fourteen of them."

Now it was Oliver's turn to look sheepish. "You need to get out more often," he declared, "Here." He grabbed a flute of champagne from a nearby server. "Can't imagine you have this much fun up there in Likely with Mosley."

Although he accepted the champagne, Alaric's face blanched. "Yeah, I don't have to hide out from my father in Likely either, though," he argued as his eyes settled on Marid, who was talking to Mae near the desert table. Just the sight made Oliver's grip on his glass tighten, but he tried to remind himself that Mae could take care of herself. He had things to take care of at the moment.

"What if you didn't have to hide from Marid?" Oliver declared.

Alaric rolled his eyes. "I don't know if you've met my father, but—"

"I have some people to introduce you to," Oliver interrupted, "And a proposition, of sorts."

"Why am I already nervous?" Alaric pondered aloud, though he followed Oliver's lead from the ballroom.

"No idea, Al," Oliver grinned. The guard standing outside his study bowed deeply and opened the mahogany doors for the pair.

Alaric froze when he saw Xander Seymour, General Gauge, Tristan, and Isolde all staring at them. "Now I'm really nervous," he decided.

Isolde waved him off. "I think we generally all are whenever Oliver's calling the shots," she assured him warmly. She gestured to the seat to her left, and Alaric settled beside her.

Oliver, for his part, took the all-important position behind his desk. Five pairs of confused eyes narrowed on him. "So, I take it everyone's confused?" Five nods.

"Well, for starters, I invited you all here today because I thought the jubilee would be a good distraction," he explained. "For once, no one's paying attention to what I'm doing."

"And what exactly _are_ you doing?" Tristan asked, a crease of confusion on his forehead.

It was an idea that had started to develop in Oliver's head long ago. The first time he'd thought of it was after his initial meeting with Xander. Then, after visiting Alaric, he'd realized just what a genius idea it was. All the people in the room had intimate knowledge of certain plans or thoughts of Oliver's. They were all powerful, charismatic, and most importantly, intelligent.

"I want you all on my council," he declared, "except Tristan, who's already there of course." He stood and made his way down the line. "Xander, Earl Mashal; Gauge, Lord High Admiral; Isolde, Lord President of the Council; and Alaric, Lord Privy Seal."

While Xander, Gauge, and Isolde all looked excited about their promotions, Oliver saw the question in Alaric's face and held up a hand. "Let me explain," he requested, "I need you."

Alaric still didn't look convinced, so Oliver rushed ahead before he could protest. "Lord Privy Seal is a minister without portfolio," he explained, "Which means technically, you have no job. But it would give me the basis to have you transferred from Likely to St. Sebastian's, where you could still continue on your holy path." St. Sebastian was the ornate cathedral in Angeles where the royal family took their masses. The archbishops of the cathedral had served as religious advisors to the royal family since the days of Gregory Illéa, and it was one of the most sought after locations for clergy members in the country.

Holy morals aside, Oliver could see the stars in Alaric's eyes after he'd finished his pitch. However, there was still an ounce of suspicion. "Why?" he asked. Oliver supposed a childhood with Marid had taught him to be suspicious. "What do you get out of it?"

"I get to say the future of the Illéas supports me," Oliver shrugged honestly, "Which is what you are, no matter what you or your father want or say."

"It's brilliant," Isolde admitted. She looked impressed, which made Oliver sit up a little straighter. It felt good to have his strategic abilities recognized.

"So…" He grinned at the four new recruits. "What do you say?"

In the end, they all agreed. Oliver had prepared for the best, and all the necessary legal documents were taken care of in the study before the group returned to the ballroom, no one else aware of the leap that preparations for Oliver's reign had just taken.

He felt so triumphant that he didn't even mind that Marid was still lurking around the edges of the room. He noticed that Mae was scanning the dessert table, and he snuck up behind her, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. She jumped at the intimate touch, swinging around with her palm ready to express her displeasure to whoever was behind her.

"Slow down, tiger," Oliver laughed as he caught her wrist before she could strike his cheek.

"You scared me," she answered accusingly.

"Sorry," he laughed. He pulled her close to him and delivered an apology kiss on her cheek.

"You seem to be in a good mood," she remarked in amusement.

He smirked. "You have that effect on me," he shrugged charmingly.

She rolled her eyes but looked pleased. "You're ridiculous sometimes," she declared dismissively. "Though I wonder if you'd be as happy as you talked to some of the other girls."

"Why?" frowned Oliver. "What happened?"

"Just some hurt feelings about you bringing Sara," she shrugged.

Oliver groaned. "Really? Who?"

"I think Xylie and Brynn were particularly irked," Mae answered, "Just do something nice for them tomorrow at the race or something. They'll forgive you."

Oliver frowned. "Wait, why aren't you jealous about me bringing Sara?" he questioned.

Mae rolled her eyes and took a step closer to Oliver, their bodies nearly touching. She smirked as he swallowed deeply. "I feel pretty good about our relationship," she shrugged. "Besides, Sara's obviously friendzoned you."

Oliver scoffed. "Please. I'm a highly eligible bachelor."

"I think the Selection makes you highly ineligible, but we'll agree to disagree," she winked. She turned back to the dessert table.

Oliver smirked as he stepped close to her once more. This time, he lowered his lips closer to the curve of his neck, lingering long enough to murmur, "Try the tiramisu. It's delectable." He grinned triumphantly at the way she shivered slightly at the touch before he left her alone with the sweets.

Patricia, who he'd been meaning to speak to all night, was seated at a nearby table fiddling with a new canister of film for her camera. He waited until she'd inserted it and then swooped down to grab her camera. "Hey!" she protested with a laugh as he turned the camera on her.

"No hiding behind the camera tonight," Oliver declared as he snapped a couple pictures of her. He grabbed the polaroids from the camera and waved them to speed up the development. "You look so incredible that it would be a tragedy to not have it documented."

"Oh, stop," she countered as she reached for the camera once more.

"I'm serious," insisted Oliver. "Most beautiful sea creature I've ever come across."

"Maybe you should've been Casanova instead of the King of Hearts," Patricia teased, although she stopped fighting him and even struck a small pose for the camera.

Oliver squished his face beside hers to snap a picture of the two of them, getting some of the glitter from Patricia's seashell crown on him in the process. It turned out to be such a good picture that Oliver decided to pocket it instead of handing it over to Patricia with the rest. "You do take some great pictures," he complimented as he eyed some of the stills she'd taken that night.

"Thank you," she beamed proudly.

"Except…"

A frown appeared between her eyebrows. "But what?" she demanded as she flipped through the pictures, as though searching for a defect.

"But tonight I want you to get out from behind the camera and come live with me," Oliver decided. "Think you can do that?"

Patricia silently gazed at him for a few beats before she broke into a smile. "I can do that," she confirmed. "You might have to explain this 'living' thing though."

"I'm thinking shots, photobombing official portraits, and line dances," he declared, "In that order. Or with more shots between each."

She laughed but let Oliver pull her along towards the bar. They followed the suggestions that he'd put forth, eventually gathering more of the other girls and even Tristan in the process, and that night, they certainly did live.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note:** Semi-fast update. You can thank my finals, since I wrote this while procrastinating. Oliver is super angsty this chapter, but hopefully you still enjoy :) As always, thank you for your support, especially my awesome reviewers :D

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Oliver was not entirely surprised when Eadlyn stormed into his room on Saturday morning. Displeased, sure, but surprised—not so much. Lately, he'd done a lot to evoke anger—Likely, building a secret military base, a threat session with Marid Illéa—so he tried not to groan too much when she stomped into the room.

"Oliver Maxon Lorne Woodwork-Schreave."

He sighed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Don't times like this make you wish you'd given me a shorter name?" he inquired before he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Eadlyn did not look in the mood for jokes. She was still in her dressing gown, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a scowl on her face. "I woke up to the most interesting phone call today," she declared.

Truly, he'd kept so much secret lately that Oliver couldn't guess what she'd possibly found out about. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, Mom."

She was not in the mood for his nonchalance. "Oliver, _why_ did Bishop Moolsey leave quite a vibrant message about your interference at the monastery in Likely? And _why_ is he under the impression that Alaric Illéa is being transferred to St. Sebastian's?" she demanded.

As he forced himself from bed and grabbed a t-shirt to pull over his head, Oliver comforted himself with the knowledge that she still wasn't aware of what was happening on Pacifica. He would've been an idiot to think that she wouldn't catch wind of his recent dealings with Alaric. "Because he has been transferred," Oliver responded.

" _What_?"

"And assigned to my privy council, while we're at it," he shrugged, "Oh, and for the record: Moolsey sucks. Can we replace him?"

Eadlyn pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oliver… you put an Illéa on your privy council?"

"Yep." He stretched and ran a hand through his messy brown hair. "Mom, I get why you've never been able to make peace with Marid—who might be an actual sociopath, for the record—but Alaric isn't like that. I'm not going to write off a potentially useful ally just because of his last name."

It was clear that she didn't appreciate his condescension. "Oliver, these are the types of decisions that I should be consulted on. You can't just interfere in certain areas, the Church in particular—"

Maybe it was because he'd been unkindly roused from sleep, but Oliver didn't appreciate her patronizing. "I'm going to be king," he reminded her, "It seems like these decisions are entirely within my realm of authority, mother."

Her face was a mixture of anger and disbelief at the way he was speaking to her. "In case you've forgotten, you're not king _yet_ ," she declared. "Be careful, Oliver. I give you a long leash, but I'm not required to." Before he had a chance to infuriate her any further, she withdrew from the room, likely to rant to his father about what a wretched child they had.

Oliver took a shower to give himself some time to decompress, but when he was still irritated upon emergence, he headed to Sara's room. "You're up early," she noted upon his arrival. She was still in her pajamas and in bed, a letter clutched in her hands and a pair of glasses perched on her nose.

Oliver threw himself over the foot of her bed, face first into the fluffy duvet. "Why are parents the worst?" he wondered aloud.

Sara chuckled but retorted, "Oh, stop. It's clear that you have amazing parents."

"More like intervening, pain in the butt, helicopter parents," he sighed. He turned towards her, head propped up on an elbow. "Letter from home?" he guessed, based on the tense set of her jaw.

"Hmm." She held the letter out to Oliver. "A summons from Nikolai to return home instantly."

The letter had clearly been written in outrage. There were numerous suspicions about Sara's relationship with Oliver and accusations of betrayal, which Oliver thought was ironic considering Nikolai was the one who was married and expecting a child. "Are you gonna answer?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No," she decided, "If Vitaly or the tsar orders me to return to Russia, fine. Nikolai can't command me."

Although there was plenty of fire in her voice, it was clear that the estrangement with Nikolai still pained her. "I'm sorry," Oliver offered, "Nikolai sucks, but I imagine it can't be easy. The girls have gotten mad at me more than once—rightfully—and it sucks to know that we're not on good terms."

She nodded and pulled her glasses off. "It's just exhausting," she sighed. "Is it wrong of me to want something easy?"

"Of course not," Oliver laughed, "You've tried—really hard and for a long time. It's okay to decide it's time to choose yourself and your own happiness."

Sara smiled. "Are you sure you're the same confused Oliver who was asking me for love advice at the Harvest Festival only a month ago?" she asked teasingly.

Oliver flopped onto his back and assured her, "Don't worry, I'm still hopelessly confused." He stared at the ceiling of her canopy for a minute before he realized that he had a more than full day ahead of him, complete with groveling.

"I better go," he frowned, "I have to get ready for the race. You're coming, right?"

Sara nodded, her eyes excited. "I've never been to a horse race," she noted, "We don't have them in Russia."

"They're exciting," chuckled Oliver, "I'm taking one of the girls with me, but I can send Tristan or Jonathan to take you."

"That's not a problem," beamed Sara. "Send Jonathan, I don't want to bother your brother."

Oliver promised he would and returned to his room to get ready. A shower and a new suit later, he was making his way towards the Selected's floor with a bouquet of apology flowers in hand. He paused outside Xylie's door and knocked.

The maid that answered the door sought out her charge, and Xylie looked unimpressed as she sauntered towards the door. "Oliver." She picked at the hem of the sleeve on her lacey, pale pink dress, eyes only briefly widening when she noticed the flowers.

Oliver held them up and tried not to let himself be deterred by her frostiness. "Good morning," he smiled.

"For _me_?" Xylie asked. "What a _surprise._ " Her tone implied that she was genuinely shocked that she, an Elite, would be receiving flowers from him, which annoyed Oliver.

"Yeah, I was just thinking of you," Oliver ground out while trying to quell his irritation. "I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the race today?"

This time, she couldn't hide her excitement. "Are all of the girls invited?" she asked innocently.

"No, just the two of us," Oliver countered, "We'll meet everyone else there."

That was all it took to change Xylie's tune. She quickly tossed the flowers to one of her maids and put the finishing touches on her outfit—a spritz of watermelon perfume and a pair of white heels—before she returned to Oliver's side. "Ready," she beamed.

Inviting her to arrive with him was one of the best apologies that Oliver could have come up with. He knew that paparazzi would be crowding the race track to get a glimpse of the royals and those important individuals that had managed to score invitations to the event. When the pair emerged from their car, lights started to explode at hyper speed. Oliver put his head down and tried to speed his way towards the gates, but Xylie lagged somewhat, smiling and waving at the photographers that were yelling their names.

While Oliver had been a little nervous about the derby and garden party since his mom was somewhat particular, he was instantly impressed when he arrived at the track. The event was being held off palace grounds, which was an exciting change of pace in Oliver's opinion. A combination of Angeles' agreeable climate and the queen's interest in the sport had renewed the popularity of horse racing in the province, and the most impressive track was the nearby Chevalier Park.

Tia Marcella and the palace's extensive list of resources had been available to the girls for the event, but Oliver was still impressed by the work that they'd put into the day. A huge white banner with gold lettering welcomed visitors to the park, and aside from deep jewel toned flowers—his mother's preferred color palette—the elegant neutrals reigned supreme throughout the track. Although there was an excited buzz of conversation from those that had been lucky enough to be invited to the second portion of the jubilee weekend festivities, the underlying drone of relaxing musical scores could be heard coming from a live band in the clubhouse.

One of the lesser known of Eadlyn's pet peeves was her hatred for standard China, so Oliver was impressed when he noticed that the dinnerware was all crystal. There were crystal tea sets, delicate little plates set up near the buffet of desserts and tiny foods, and coordinating champagne saucers. He went for the latter, despite the fact that it was still early afternoon. If he had to suffer through a garden party, he might as well be prepared.

"Wow," he commented as he turned to Xylie. "You guys did an awesome job."

"I know," she giggled as she followed his lead and grabbed a glass of champagne. "It was actually really fun."

He made a mental note to ask his aunt how the collaboration between the nine ladies had gone, but for the moment, he decided to work on appeasing Xylie, since she'd been particularly irked by Sara's presence at the masquerade. "So, give me the inside scoop," Oliver requested, "What's something that I should definitely do while we're here today?"

"There's games!" she excitedly informed him. "I picked some good ones. Don't worry though, only typical rich people sports."

Oliver laughed, as he'd never been much of an aficionado for rich people sports despite his status but allowed Xylie to drag him to the croquet course. "Are you prepared to get your butt kicked?" she teased as she playfully swung her mallet.

"Yes," Oliver answered truthfully with a laugh, "I might be the worst croquet player you've ever met." If anything, she only looked excited by the prospect and eagerly took her first turn.

In the end, Oliver lived up to his reputation of being an actual liability when it came to croquet. He accidentally sent one of his balls careening into the path of a woman who ended up tripping over it and twisting her ankle and knocked a tray of champagne over with a careless swing of his mallet. Xylie won handily. "When you said 'worst croquet player', I didn't think you meant you were a danger," she laughed as they took a seat on a nearby bench.

Oliver shrugged. "We can't be good at everything, I guess."

"We can try," countered Xylie, and Oliver noticed the competitive glint that her eye usually held.

He tried again. "Oh well," he chuckled, "Losing's not the worst thing to ever happen."

Xylie didn't look convinced, but she didn't have a chance to respond, because at that moment, Sara arrived with Jonathan and sent an excited wave in Oliver's direction. Xylie's expression turned stormy as Oliver raised a weak hand to wave back. "Don't be like that," he tried to order jokingly.

Xylie's eyes widened, like she couldn't believe what he was saying. "You know what she is, don't you?"

Now it was Oliver's turn to frown. "Yes," he nodded, "My friend."

The young blonde obviously could tell that she'd made a misstep. "Well… yes, I suppose, but I just think you should be careful, is all I was trying to say," she quickly added in a rush.

"I don't care what people think about me, Xylie," Oliver declared with a roll of his eyes. "And I'd hoped you'd start caring less after our talk during the paintball game, but I guess I was wrong." He excused himself and left her on the bench looking shocked.

He decided chocolate would calm his irritation, so he made his way to the chocolate fountain. His brain wasn't fully focused on the action though, and before he knew it, he'd been holding his rice crispie in the stream of chocolate for so long that the whole thing was positively drenched, including the fingers that had been grasping one edge of the rectangle. He sighed as he dropped the chocolate bomb onto a plate and grabbed a napkin for his fingers.

"Everything okay?"

Kaitlyn stood beside him, a small bowl of ice cream with a slight chocolate drizzle atop it in her hands. She was wearing a light blue, off the shoulder dress that brought out the color in her eyes, and her brown hair was pulled up into a cute, messy updo, but the first thing that Oliver noticed about her outfit was the walking boot that she was still wearing for her ankle that made him feel bad every time he saw it. Kaitlyn followed his gaze down to her foot and tried to hide the bulky medical shoe behind her slim, unharmed leg in vain.

"No, I guess not," Oliver sighed. "There's just been a lot going on lately."

She tentatively chewed a lip before she took a deep breath and began to speak. "Look, we haven't talked much since the Likely thing. And I completely understand if I freaked you out when I told you how I felt about you, but I just—"

Oliver couldn't help but interject. "Wait, you think _that's_ why I've been avoiding you?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

Her face crumpled. "So you _have_ been avoiding me." She shoved a huge bite of ice cream into her mouth, as if it could numb the hurt.

He tried not to laugh at her, since she seemed genuinely upset. "Kaitlyn, I haven't been avoiding you because of what you said," he countered, "I've just… felt bad."

But this didn't seem to offer her any illumination. "About what?" she frowned.

Oliver raised his eyebrows and gestured to her foot. "You got hurt," he reminded her, "Hurt enough that it was weeks ago, and you're still paying for it."

Kaitlyn waved him off. "It hardly bothers me anymore," she countered, "I'm just upset that the doctor took my scooter away. I only tried to ride it down the stairs _once_."

But no matter who said it or how much evidence there was that Kaitlyn truly was fine, Oliver still felt guilty, and he had a feeling that she could see it in his eyes because she frowned and set her ice cream down. "Look," she began in a softer voice, avoiding his gaze, "I understand that it was a scary situation, and I appreciate that you regret what happened. But if you can't move past it… if I'm just a reminder of a mistake that you made…"

The sad blue eyes locked on his. "Then send me home," she declared, "Because I don't want to keep waiting around for us to move past this if it's never going to happen. I wasn't kidding, Oliver. I wake up every morning hoping I get to see you even if it's for just a second, and it hurts to see you give me that sad, apologetic expression every time I walk into a room."

Then, with all the elegance that one in a clunky walking boot can muster, she left him with a shocked, stupid expression on his face at the chocolate fountain.

Since he was 0-for-2 on the girls today, he decided to seek out his own gender and trudged to his royal box where Xander Seymour was already sitting in one of the seats that he'd offered to his new council members. He was reading over the program for the day where the different horses were listed but folded it up when Oliver slumped into the seat beside him.

"Tough morning?" Xander guessed.

"You would be surprised how difficult having multiple girlfriends is," sighed Oliver. Xander snorted, and Oliver added, "Sorry if that's weird since your sister is one of them. Not part of the difficult ones right now, but—oh, fuck, you know what I mean."

Xander pushed his reddish brown hair out of his eyes. "It's fine," he shrugged, "We got past that weirdness already. And for what it's worth, I think you're great at dating multiple people."

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Is that a compliment…?"

"I just meant you're good at juggling," clarified an amused Xander, "Probably a good thing for my future boss to—oh no."

"What's wrong?" frowned Oliver, confused by Xander's sudden change in demeanor. The other man sat up straighter and buttoned his suit jacket.

"Act natural," Xander ordered in a low voice, although Oliver had continued to lounge in his seat and was the only one of the two of them who was currently obeying the instruction.

A tall, thin man with dark hair and an angular face had approached their box and bowed to Oliver. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit, and while he looked reverent when he addressed Oliver with a polite, "Your Highness," he looked confused by Xander's presence at the prince's side.

It made a little more sense when Xander explained, "This is my father, Orion Seymour, Your Highness."

Which sent Oliver into a panic, because that meant that he was also Margaery's father.

"Oh!" Oliver jumped to his feet and extended a hand to the man. "Mr. Seymour, what a pleasure."

Orion Seymour looked pleased by his response, which made Oliver feel a little more relaxed. He didn't look like an altogether welcoming man, which made sense based on what he knew of Margaery's family and how they tried to present themselves in public, but he didn't look unimpressed by the prince.

"What, uh, exactly are you doing here, Dad?" Xander asked, clearly confused and surprised by his father's presence.

Orion shrugged. "Celebrating our queen, of course," he smiled charmingly. "We were able to purchase tickets in support of different charities, so I thought what a great opportunity to provide aid and visit your sister. What a pleasant surprise to see _both_ of my children."

The inflection in Orion's voice made it clear that he was looking for an explanation as to why both of his children were pleasant, and Oliver figured he must've been confused to see his son looking so chummy with the prince since he didn't know about their work on Pacifica or Xander's promotion.

Xander and Oliver exchanged a glance, both trying to think of an adequate lie. Finally, Oliver spoke. "We know each other through my buddy, Elijah," he decided. He tossed an arm around Xander's shoulder. "Just regular old pals here. When Margaery got Selected, I invited him to the palace to catch up."

Orion's jaw tensed. "I see. Speaking of Margaery, why don't you come help me find your sister, Xander?" the older man suggested. "If you would be so kind as to excuse us, Your Highness."

"Oh, sure," shrugged Oliver. The Seymours departed the box, and he sighed as he realized it was probably to try again with another Selected. He headed back towards the garden in search of Mae but was surprised by a brief announcement that invited guests to make their way inside for a brief announcement.

He followed the instruction and was surprised when he found that his parents, along with the Elite, had taken over the stage from the band. The subject of his previous query stood center stage in a lacy white dress, her wavy hair pushed over one shoulder, and a dazzling smile on her face as though she felt comfortable in front of the crowd, who all looked to her for explanation for their gathering.

The other Selected were grouped around Mae, and there were varying levels of comfort (or discomfort) at the attention that was being leveled at them at the moment. "We wanted to thank everyone for joining us here today for a very special derby," she smiled into the microphone once the crowd had quieted down. "The other ladies and I feel very honored to have gotten the opportunity to plan today to celebrate and thank our incredible leader for the years of service that she has given to Illéa as our queen." She raised her champagne flute, and they all toasted Eadlyn, who looked pleased.

Mae passed the microphone to Gabi, who was another girl that seemed comfortable on stage in front of everyone. "The Queen's Derby will be beginning in just under an hour, so we invite you all to check out the different entrants and place your bets. Each of us Elite have sponsored a different horse and picked a charity that their purse will go to if they win. We'll be at their stall doors, so please feel free to stop by and inquire a little about these great organizations."

There was a polite applause as the girls filed off stage. The club house soon emptied as people made their way towards the stable to begin the betting, but before Oliver could join them, he heard his mother call his name. They hadn't spoken since their disagreement about Alaric that morning, but she didn't look angry. "The girls did a wonderful job," she remarked.

"You should probably tell them that instead of me," Oliver pointed out, "They'd probably appreciate it."

A brief look of annoyance flashed over her face before Eadlyn calmed herself. "Perhaps I will," she agreed. "Look, Oliver… I suppose you had a point this morning. You do need to start making decisions. I guess that's just hard for me to accept sometimes." She gestured to the clubhouse, decorated for a celebration in her honor. "This has been my life for twenty years," she reminded him.

He smiled ruefully. "It's not going anywhere," he pointed out, "I definitely don't think I'm ready to take over yet."

She smiled. "I think you're more ready than you give yourself credit for," she countered. She kissed his cheek and added, "Go on. I know you're probably dying to spend all of your money, you always loved betting on the horses."

He'd already decided he'd bet the same amount on each horse so he didn't unintentionally hurt anyone's feelings, and when he noticed that Kaitlyn was distracted by Jonathan and Sara, he stopped at her horse first, since he didn't quite know how to talk to her after their tense conversation. Her horse had an impressive lineage, and the charity that she'd picked provided free healthcare services to the poor. It was a reminder of her passion for her chosen profession, which made Oliver feel a little guilty when he considered that she would have to give up nursing if she were to become queen.

He moved down the barn aisle towards Margaery. Her horse was a beautiful gray who seemed fond of her and kept nudging her with his velvety nose. "Looks like you have a fan," he commented, causing Margaery to laugh. "So, what charity do you have for me?"

Margaery was all too excited to explain it to him. "It's an organization called Santa's Helpers," she explained, "I was actually involved with them back in Fennley. They do toy and clothing drives and connect with families that have had a difficult year, whether it's because of money, a natural disaster, or some other unfortunate circumstance, and make sure that they still have a good Christmas."

"That's really cool," Oliver commented as he placed his bet. "Do you do a lot with charities back in Fennley?"

Margaery laughed, although it sounded a bit self-conscious. "I mean, I don't do much else," she admitted, "My family never really promoted the idea of me working a real job."

"Speaking of family," added Oliver, "have you seen your father?"

Margaery frowned for a second. "Yeah," she nodded, "He was sort of giving Xander a hard time earlier." She looked frustrated, which made Oliver feel bad for allowing Orion to whisk Xander away earlier.

"For what?" asked the prince.

Margaery shrugged. "My dad's really focused on moving up," she explained, "Just being better—more well known, a bigger company, that sort of thing. He was mad that Xander didn't mention he knew you, because he said it could help business. Xander said he wasn't going to use a friend like that, and they went at it a bit. It's not you, though, just an ongoing argument. My dad's always thought Xander was too emotional for business."

It didn't seem fair to Oliver. "Xander's ambitious," he argued, "He wouldn't have taken on the research for Pacifica if he wasn't."

"I know," agreed Margaery, "It's just never been enough for my dad."

Oliver frowned as he revisited their conversation about the expectations of enough that they were always struggling to live up to. "Well, it's enough for me," he declared. "Next time I see your dad I'll mention he might want to be a little nicer to my new Lord Marshal."

Margaery's frown slowly transformed. "I'm sure Xander would appreciate that," she smiled. "And… I do too. Really. You've really given my brother some amazing chances."

"He's earned them," Oliver countered. "And you can tell your dad I said so." He kissed her cheek briefly before he continued on.

He didn't get to talk to too many of the girls, as they were busy discussing their various charities with the many guests. As a result, he stopped to examine many of them himself, scanning the little write-ups that the girls had provided in explanation. They'd all picked great causes. Rosalie had decided to support the children's theater program that Oliver was involved with himself, Adelaide's group helped victims of domestic violence, Patricia chose a group that supported young women in STEM positions, Mae's had put her weight behind the most populated orphanage in Angeles, and Xylie was supporting sports programs for underprivileged youth.

The last horse that Oliver came across was Gabi's. She was tucked away at the end of the barn and consequentially, not quite as busy as some of the girls towards the beginning had been, which he was glad about since it gave him a chance to talk to her. "Tell me what you've got," Oliver invited her as he slung an arm around her shoulders and turned towards her horse.

"It's a charity called Grams for Grands," Gabi explained excitedly. "We get in touch with elderly people who don't have family in their area or at all and connect them with kids as pen pals. It helps the kids improve their writing and communication skills while helping to combat elderly depression."

"That's really cool," noted Oliver as he filled out his bet for Gabi's charity. "How'd you hear about something like that?"

"Uh…" Gabi gave a self-conscious shrug. "I sort of started it back in Sumner. I thought it was a good way to use my matchmaking skills."

Oliver paused, his pen poised on the sheet. "You started a whole charity yourself?"

"Of course not," she laughed nervously, "My mom helps me."

Her answer made him chuckle. While he'd originally planned to bet the same on each horse for fairness' sake, he couldn't help but scribble an extra amount

The last girl that he had to seek out was Brynn. She was the other member of the Elite that had been upset by Sara's arrival, which had made him a little nervous to approach him. It wasn't without cause either, as she sounded a little cold as she told him about the charity she'd elected to support, which helped to fund arts programs for underprivileged youths. She'd seemed unmoved by his interest or excitement about betting on her horse, so Oliver tried one more last-ditch attempt.

"Would you want to come to the royal box for the race?" he asked hopefully. "The Elite have their own box nearby, but you could come to ours, if you want."

Brynn looked conflicted for a moment, like she was determined not to let him off easily but the temptation was too much. Finally, she decided, "I guess."

Even if it wasn't the most enthusiastic response, Oliver decided to count it as a win. The post parade was scheduled to start soon, so he led Brynn to the top of the grandstand where their box was located. "Wow," she noted as she glanced around at the luxurious box.

"My mom really likes horse races," he explained as he gestured to a seat for her. "Do you want anything? Champagne? Caviar? Any other unnecessarily opulent show of wealth?"

Brynn laughed. "No, thank you," she countered. No one else had arrived yet, which meant that they were the only two in the box at the moment aside from the waiter.

"Look," sighed Oliver, "I wanted to apologize about the masquerade. If I upset you by bringing Sara or anything, it wasn't intentional. She's just a friend who's going through a rough time right now."

To Oliver's disappointment, Brynn didn't look placated by his apology. "I appreciate that," she sighed, "but… can I be honest?"

"Of course," Oliver assured her, putting an arm around her shoulders encouragingly. She didn't shrug him off, which he decided to count as a plus until Brynn's response made his arm recoil on its own.

"I just don't like her," she declared darkly. Her expression seemed starkly contrasted against her multicolored, flowery dress, which usually matched her cheerful appearance.

Oliver's brows furrowed together in confusion. From what he'd heard, Sara had only ever been kind to the Elite, a few of which—like Mae and Margaery—she was actually friendly with. "Uh… what?" Oliver asked, unsure of how to take her statement.

"I suppose it's not her in particular," Brynn allowed with a sigh. "But look, my mom's always been a single parent. I've watched her date, and it's been hard. There was one guy that she almost married and was really happy with, but he cheated on her. Just like Nikolai cheats on Regan with Sara. It hurt my mom so badly. I can't imagine how Regan feels every day."

Oliver's confusion quickly turned to anger. "There's a lot that you don't know about Sara, or Regan, for that matter," he snapped. Brynn looked surprised by his response, so he took a deep breath and added, "Look, I'm sorry about what your mom dealt with, but you can't base your response to other people in similar situations off that one experience. There are a lot of different factors and complications."

Brynn didn't look swayed either though. "Regan didn't seem okay with the situation when she was here,' she argued.

"Because Regan's a miserable bitch who's never happy," refuted Oliver. Brynn raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Oliver frowned. "Look… I'm not saying you have to like Sara. But relationships are about compromises, so if you want ours to continue, you at least have to accept that she's my friend, and I'm gonna look out for her."

Brynn frowned down at her hands. After a tense silence between the two, she requested, "I think I'd like to return to the Elite's box."

Disappointed, Oliver waved her away without another word. He sank down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, and a scowl marring his handsome features.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you?" Elijah laughed when he and Everly walked into the box.

"Girls," was all he grumbled in response as he continued to sip angrily from his champagne saucer.

Everly rolled her eyes. "Boys are worse most of the time," she countered simply.

" _Some_ boys," interjected Elijah.

Oliver narrowed his eyes between his cousin and friend. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but they seemed closer since they'd returned to Angeles, and he was a little suspicious about their new acquaintanceship. He decided not to question it at that particular moment though, as he'd been involved in enough arguments already.

The box filled more quickly as the post time drew closer, with his parents, siblings, and aunts and uncles all joining them. His irritation was momentarily abated when Amelie decided he was her favorite person again and demanded that she be allowed to sit on his lap for the duration of the race.

It turned out to be an incredibly exciting race, as the girls had invited some of the best horses in the country to take part. Ultimately, it was a photo finish between Kaitlyn's horse and Adelaide's horse, with Adelaide's coming in a nose ahead. From the Elite's box, he saw the two girls shake hands amicably before Adelaide was ushered down to the winner's circle where she would be presented with a bonus check for her charity by the queen before photos were taken.

A formal supper had been planned back in the clubhouse, so Oliver and his group decided to head back inside while everyone else was milling about the grandstand. As usual, the royals had their own table, and as Oliver settled himself at the seat to his mother's right, he noticed that the sat to his right, which had been reserved for Sara, was empty.

He frowned as he glanced around. "Have you seen Sara?" he asked his brother.

"She was in the stables the last time I saw her," Tristan shrugged disinterestedly. His attention was focused on the food, and Oliver rolled his eyes.

He decided not to make a big deal out of it, as his attention was soon captured by a different pair. He'd noticed Kaitlyn the minute she'd walked into the room—the boot made it difficult for him not to, as she'd aptly pointed out—but his usual guilt was replaced by confusion when he realized that she was holding Alaric's arm as he helped her to her seat. Kaitlyn was talking, energetically and with lots of gestures from her free hand as always, and Oliver couldn't decide if Alaric looked overly interested as he listened.

He watched them until Alaric pulled out her seat at the Elite's table for her. Oliver waited patiently for his newest council member to politely take his leave, but Alaric lingered, smiling down at Kaitlyn as she gesticulated. Without looking away from the two, Oliver smacked Tristan's arm beside him. "Should I be worried about that?" he demanded, an already worried frown on his face.

To his surprise, it was Isolde who spoke. "Oliver," she sighed, her tone making her exasperation clear, "is that an actual question? You know how much Kaitlyn likes you."

"Yeah, but look how happy she looks—"

"In her defense, I think Kaitlyn would look that happy talking to a blind, deaf, and mute person," Tristan pointed out.

He didn't get a chance to present a counterargument as his mother took her place at the head of the table and called the room to attention. Throughout her speech, Oliver glanced around for Sara again but to no avail.

By the time supper was finished, he was genuinely worried for his friend and set out towards the stable, where she'd last been seen. He was immediately relieved when he found her sitting on a haybale with Jonathan. "Hey," he called out to them, "You guys missed dinner."

Sara looked genuinely surprised as she glanced up at the large clock that hung above the barn door. "Oh," she frowned, "I guess I lost track of time."

Oliver felt a little put out that she'd simply forgotten. "I saved a place for you," he muttered.

Jonathan looked a little uncomfortable and stood. "I'll go see if your car is ready," he decided before he left the stable.

Sara stood as well. "Oliver, I really appreciate everything you're doing for me," she smiled, "But maybe we should be more… conscientious."

"What do you mean?" asked Oliver, confused for what felt like the millionth time that day.

"I know you don't mean anything by it, but I can see how people can get the wrong idea if I'm seated next to you at a royal table or if we accidentally match for an official event," she explained. "I have spent my life in Russia being hated because of my relationship with Nikolai. I don't want that here, especially since we are such good friends."

Truthfully, he hadn't thought of any of those things until she had brought them up. He'd been a little defensive about the reactions to Sara's presence, but admittedly, he could be a bit oblivious and supposed that he hadn't noticed how the girls were seeing their friendship.

"That makes sense," he allowed, "I just wanted to make sure you've felt welcome and everything."

"More than welcomed," she assured him with a beaming smile. "Now, come on. Let's get back to the castle. I think I'm starting to feel that Angeles breeze you were complaining about."

Before they could slip into his waiting car, Eadlyn caught up to him once more. "I just wanted to let you know that I _did_ let the girls know how impressed I was by today," she declared proudly. "And I wanted to give you a heads up as well: with this weekend almost over, it's on to the next event."

"But Christmas isn't for weeks," groaned Oliver.

Eadlyn looked amused. "Yes," she agreed, "but your birthday is in less than two."

Oliver blinked dumbly. His birthday. He was going to be twenty-one. How had he forgotten about that? "Oh. I guess I forgot."

Eadlyn laughed. "You've had a lot going on," she allowed, "but I'll have Neena send over some plans for you tonight." She kissed his cheek and then returned to her own car where Kile was waiting for her. Oliver watched as his father kissed his mother's cheek briefly and Eadlyn gave Kile's hand a squeeze before they slid into the car.

He was starting to get excited about having a partner like that, a teammate.

"Are you coming, Oliver?" Sara asked, jolting him back to reality.

"Yeah," he agreed.

He was mostly silent on the drive back to the palace, as his thoughts were occupying him currently. His birthday was in theory one of his favorite days of the year, but as prince, it did get hijacked somewhat. It was always a publicized event, with important people invited, dress codes, and obligations. With the Selection, it would probably be even more of a production this year.

But, as he thought about it, it might also be a good chance to kill two birds with one stone. At some point during the Elite he had to meet the girls' families. There were always so many people invited to his party that a few more would make no difference. He made a mental note to ask his mother about it as his car slowed outside the palace.

For the moment, he had more pressing matters to attend to. One of the things he'd been unable to shake on the drive home was Kaitlyn and how effervescent she'd looked while speaking to Alaric. Their conversation was still weighing heavily on him as well, and Oliver realized that it was time for him to have an honest conversation with both her and himself.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note** : Hello, procrastinating LC again. This chapter had a lot of necessary elements and is a big plot vehicle. Also, I wanted to give you some exciting news! In celebration of Christmas coming up, I'm going to do my abbreviated version of a '12 days of Christmas' and give you _LC's Week of Christmas!_ Starting the 18th through Christmas Eve, I will be updating every day. Yes, I almost don't believe it either. Get excited, people. It's my thank you for the amazing support this story has received. I never thought we'd be on Chapter 29, about to hit 200 reviews. It's crazy to me, and I truly appreciate every person who's embarkedon this journey with me. So until next week :)

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Oliver didn't need to be a chess master like Patricia to know that he was going to lose the game. He sighed and moved his rook to take her knight, only to see it captured by her bishop.

"You're particularly bad today," Patricia noted as she swept another pawn off the board. "What's on your mind?"

"What makes you think something's on my mind?" Oliver asked with a chuckle. "Maybe I just suck at chess."

"You do," conceded Patricia, "but not this badly."

Truthfully, there was a lot on his mind. Since the end of the jubilee and the onset of preparation for his birthday, his duties had been non-stop. He had a sneaking suspicion that part of it was Eadlyn's revenge for the fit he'd thrown about making decisions since he was going to be king, but there was always something that needed his attention. His birthday was more of a hassle than it was worth, and there were several times that he wished that he could've just canceled the whole thing altogether. He couldn't even pawn it off on Tristan and Isolde, since their wedding was quickly approaching and they might've been the only people in the palace more stressed than he was.

It wasn't just the party. His birthday was always a bit of a circus, because of the national event that it was turned into; however, he certainly hadn't done himself any favors by deciding that it was the perfect time to meet the Elite's families as well. Aside from logistical issues—like the background checks and palace preparations that had to be made for nine families—Oliver had woken up several nights due to a recurring nightmare that someone's parents hated him.

And if that wasn't enough, he was still avoiding his talk with Kaitlyn. He'd tried to put aside his pride and admit to her that she was right, but the first time he'd sought her out, she hadn't been in her room. He'd eventually found her in the library, gushing about a book to Alaric. Since his new Lord Privy Seal had been officially transferred to St. Sebastian's, he'd been around the palace a lot more recently. Oliver was trying to put his jealousy aside—Kaitlyn was allowed to have friends, of course—but the scene had made him a little reluctant to pour his heart out to her.

He mindlessly moved a piece that prompted Patricia to declare, "Checkmate. Seriously, what's wrong?"

Oliver leaned back in his seat. "I guess there's just a lot going on," he sighed, "My birthday's never particularly fun, because there are a ton of obligations that come along with it. And I don't want everyone's parents to hate me."

An amused smile played on Patricia's face. " _Everyone's_ parents won't hate you," she assured him.

"But how do you know?" pressed Oliver.

She shrugged simply. "It's statistically unlikely. _Someone_ is bound to like you."

He snorted. "Thanks. That helps so much."

Patricia winked at him. "I do what I can." She glanced at the clock before she asked, "One more game? It might keep your mind off the impending doom."

He followed her gaze, and his stomach sank when he realized that the families were scheduled to arrive in a little less than an hour. "Later," he assured her, "I want to pull myself together a little bit first."

It was a good thing he'd chosen to forgo the rematch, because when he returned to his room and tried to figure out what to wear, he realized he was more anxious than he'd though. His nerves had rendered him incompetent, and he stood immobile in front of his closet for a solid ten minutes before a knock at his door tore his attention away from his clothes.

Sara looked surprised to see him, which he thought was a little odd considering it was his room. They didn't have time to dwell on it though, because she asked, "What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be meeting your nine girlfriends' families?"

"Help," frowned Oliver. He turned back towards his closet. "I have nothing to wear."

It took a while, as Sara had to practically force him into the black sweater and gray button up that she'd picked out to match his dark jeans, but Oliver was glad that he listened to her in the end. He felt casual enough to be comfortable but formal enough to be respectful. "Thanks," he beamed at as he ruffled his hair in the mirror to add a touch of messiness. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled at the praise before she asked, "Oh, by the way, have you seen Jonathan at all today?"

"Uh, he's probably in his room," shrugged Oliver, "I'm not going anywhere, so he pretty much has the day off. Why?"

"No reason," countered Sara, "I'm going to your party with Tristan and Isolde tomorrow, so I thought that I would just find out our travel details, since they're so busy with wedding plans."

He pointed her in the direction of Jonathan's room and thanked her for her help once more before there was nothing else to do but meet everyone.

Before he even arrived in the room, he could hear the excited chatter of the girls and their reunited families. He supposed they had a lot to talk about, as the girls had been at the palace for nearly four months already. With one last steadying breath, he slowly pulled open the door.

For the first time, perhaps ever, his arrival was completely ignored. As he glanced around, he felt a little out of place, like he was interrupting something private as he watched the girls be hugged by their mothers or stoop to speak with younger siblings.

He was a little annoyed that no one had taken notice of him when he realized it meant that he was going to have to interrupt someone to begin the introductions. He decided to start with Margaery, since he already knew half of her family. "Pardon my interruption," he began as he stopped at Margaery's side. She beamed up at him and seemed a little relieved by his arrival. "It's great to see you again, Mr. Seymour," Oliver declared as he held out a hand, which Orion shook.

"And yourself, Your Highness," he declared. He looked invigorated, like being in the palace was all he'd ever hoped for, and he was well aware of the impact that his daughter being in the Selection could have on his family. "You already know Xander, of course, but allow me to introduce my wife, Hana, and our younger daughter, Genesis."

Hana Seymour had clearly once been a striking beauty in her day, although her face was beginning to show signs of aging. She didn't stand as closely to her husband as some of the other moms, and there wasn't the same clear affection between them as Oliver saw in his own mom and dad. But she smiled pleasantly and remarked, "It's wonderful to meet you, Your Highness. I've heard only lovely things about you," which Oliver found encouraging.

While Margaery and Xander were clearly very close and resembled each other, Genesis Seymour seemed to be the wild child of the family. Her hair had been dyed partially pink, and although Oliver guessed that she was about Celine's age, she was wearing a dress that was tighter and shorter than anything Celine would even consider. She only smiled at Oliver, but when her parents turned their attention from her, her eyes raked him over in a way that made him a little uncomfortable, and the smile turned to a smirk. Margaery seemed to notice her younger sister's interest in the prince, and she frowned.

Oliver chatted with the Seymours for a bit longer before he made his way to the next group. Emboldened by how well the first interaction had gone, he was confident enough to interject himself into the next conversation. "Good afternoon everyone," he greeted Patricia's family.

Patricia's parents, Nicholas and Christine, were a little warmer than the Seymours. "You have a lovely home," Mrs. Aldridge told him, "Patricia's sent us a few pictures, but it's incredible in person."

"Patricia's our unofficial photographer," chuckled Oliver. "She's really good though. Don't leave without making her show you the one's that she's taken here." Patricia seemed pleased by the praise.

Before he moved on, Oliver remembered that Patricia's father was a chemist and added, "I'd also like to discuss your work while you're here, Mr. Aldridge. I'm working on a project that might benefit from having a chemist involved." Mr. Aldridge excitedly agreed, and Oliver made a mental note to send Xander in his direction as he continued on.

Despite their recent strain, Kaitlyn's family instantly made him feel comfortable. Her younger siblings clearly adored her, and Mrs. Davis was so excited to meet Oliver that she hugged him instead of the standard handshakes he'd received so far. He made plans to play catch with her younger brother, Cameron, later that evening, and noticed Kaitlyn smiling in his direction, which left him feeling a little encouraged about their relationship.

He was more nervous to talk to Brynn and Xylie than the other girls, as he had no intention of apologizing to them after the tense day they'd had at the derby. He'd seen them since then, of course, but their conversations had all seemed rather surface level. Xylie was trying a little harder than Brynn and seemed to realize that she'd overstepped a line, but the latter was rather set on her view about Oliver's friendship with Sara.

Regardless, Brynn was cordial when she introduced Oliver to her mother, Lucille. "It's great to meet you," Oliver smiled at the older woman.

Lucille smirked. "I'm sure you say that to all the families."

Oliver paused, as it didn't seem like Brynn's mom was completely joking. He remembered that Brynn had mentioned that her mom hadn't had the most luck with dating and grit his teeth. Of course he had to be the subject of man hating today of all days. He tried to laugh it off with a simple, "Thank you for being here, Mrs. Emberly."

But even that didn't work well, as Lucille quipped, "I don't suppose I had much of a choice, did I?"

This time, Oliver didn't try to be pleasant. "The girls all know that if they don't want to be here, the door is open," he declared, "I'd extend the same courtesy to their parents. Excuse me."

He tried not to be too deterred by Brynn's mom, which was easy when Gabi's excited, smiling face beckoned to him. "Oliver, this is my fantastic mother," Gabi introduced once he'd joined the pair.

Roslyn Huisken looked almost exactly like Gabi's twin. Both women's faces held enormous smiles, and it was clear to Oliver that they were very close. He shook Mrs. Huisken's hand and complimented, "You have an incredible daughter, Mrs. Huisken."

"She is the best," agreed Gabi's mom as she put an arm around her shoulders. "It's been unbearable to be away from her for so long."

"I told you you'd be in Angeles soon," Gabi reminded her mother, although Oliver didn't know whether it was the result of confidence in their relationship or the assurance that she'd gotten from Madam Anastasia.

"Did your step-father come, Gabi?" Oliver asked as he glanced around. He regretted it as he saw her face fall.

Mrs. Huisken made his excuse. "He has an important conference call, so he sad that he'd just join us for dinner," she explained. When Gabi's disappointment was still clear, she added, "He tried to rearrange it, but it's hard, since he's a doctor. He's very excited to meet you and see Gabi."

Oliver assured her that it was no problem and he'd find them after dinner to meet Dr. Heese. There were three more families left to meet, and he moved through them methodically. Xylie's was a little uncomfortable since he'd remembered that she wasn't that close with her mother or sister, and Adelaide and her mother seemed to have some underlying tension as well, but Rosalie and her father seemed overjoyed to be reunited, and Mr. Watson was welcoming and pleasant to talk to. Their conversation left Oliver feeling more encouraged about the way meeting the families had gone overall.

The happiness at being welcomed so warmly—for the most part—vanished when he glanced around and noticed that Mae wasn't present. Instead, a sinking feeling in his stomach replaced it: Mae didn't have any family. There was no one for her to excitedly introduce Oliver too, no mother to hug either of them, no father to size him up and make sure he was good enough for his little girl.

Having made his rounds, he decided to quietly slip away to check on Mae. It had to be a tough situation for her to deal with, and his mind was already spinning with ideas on how to cheer her up.

But before he could get far away, a familiar voice demanded, "Where's my hello?"

Presley stood behind him, dressed in a pair of black cropped pants, a white button up and a blazer. Her hair was loose and curly as always, tucked behind her ear. Oliver was so shocked by her presence that it took him a minute to pull her into a crushing hug. "I didn't know you were coming!" he chuckled, glad to see a familiar face, "but it's so good to see you! I have so much—"

"Oh, sorry, Ol," Presley interrupted, a teasing smile alight on her face. "I'm not here for you."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, Oliver's mouth unhinged slightly. "Excuse me?"

"There she is," Presley beamed, looking at someone behind Oliver's shoulder. He spun around and saw that Kile and Isolde were leading Mae into the room.

Mae's green eyes lit up at seeing her old friend, and both girls let out a shrill, unintelligible exclamation of happiness before they threw themselves at each other, knocking each other off balance. "What are you doing here?" Mae demanded of her friend.

Presley put an arm around Oliver's shoulders as Kile and Isolde joined them. "We're Mae's family," she declared.

He turned a confused gaze to his father, who gave a calm smile and held a finger to his lips. "I'm supposed to be objective," he admitted, "so _technically_ I was just bringing Lady Mae to the room." But he put a protective hand on Mae's shoulder. "Although I hope you do realize what a magnificent young lady you have here, Oliver."

Oliver laughed at his father's attempt at intimidation. "Yeah, Dad, thanks," he snorted. "You can go now." Kile gave Mae a hug before he motioned to Oliver that he would be watching him—which made Oliver roll his eyes and the girls giggle—before he departed from the room.

He sized up Isolde and Presley, who stood on either side of Mae. "So, who's mom and who's dad?" he asked in amusement. Presley punched him in the arm, which prompted him to declare her dad.

When Mae finally spoke, Oliver could tell that she was struggling to keep her voice level. It matched the emotion held in her watery eyes. "Thank you guys so much," she choked out. "I mean, Pres… you flew in from Baffin in the middle of winter. And Is, I know how busy you've been with your wedding."

Presley shrugged off her thanks, and Isolde countered, "That's what families do."

Overwhelmed, Mae pulled her two friends into hugs as the tears managed to escape from her eyes. "Why are you crying?" Presley laughed.

"Because I'm so happy!" was the only response that Mae could manage.

As Oliver hardly knew what to do about sad tears, he was completely flummoxed by happy tears. "Alright, I'm gonna let you guys enjoy this reunion," he decided. "I only have a million and one things to finalize before tomorrow night anyway."

A million and one turned out to not be too much of an exaggeration. He didn't have time to worry about impressing the families the rest of Friday, as Eadlyn stopped by to drop off a list of details that still needed to be handled before the party on Saturday before she and Kile spent Friday night socializing with their guests. He'd tried to call on Tristan for help, only to find out that he'd been put to work by his fiancée. Elijah was missing in action, as was Everly, and since Xander was busy being part of the family festivities, the only person left for Oliver to summon was the one person he wasn't too interested in having around presently.

"Is everything okay?" Alaric asked when he stepped into Oliver's study.

Without speaking, Oliver held out a list of tasks for him and kept working on the seating chart. After a moment of confusion, Alaric accepted the letter and read it over. "Uh, you want all of this done tonight?"

Oliver glanced at the clock. "Well, preferably before 8 o'clock, but yes, tonight works."

"And I thought Lord Privy Seal meant I didn't have a real job," Alaric quipped. When he garnered no response from the prince—no chuckle, smile, even a flicker of acknowledgement—Alaric paused. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What makes you ask?" muttered Oliver. He knew he was being passive aggressive but couldn't stop it.

"You haven't spoken to me in a week except to throw work at me, for starters."

Oliver paused his writing and unleashed his glare on Alaric. "I'm just wondering about your intentions, Alaric," he declared.

It took a minute for Alaric to look insulted. "You're the one who invited me here in the first place!"

"Yes, to sit on my council, not to move in on my Selected," Oliver snapped.

The confusion on Alaric's face only grew. "What are you _talking_ about?" he demanded. He sounded genuinely distressed, like he was desperate to understand what was bothering Oliver but truly had no clue.

"Kaitlyn, of course!" Oliver threw his fountain pen onto his desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

This still seemed to shed little to no illumination on the situation for Alaric. "What about her?" he asked.

Oliver hadn't initially intended to confront Alaric about his suspicions, because he knew he didn't have enough evidence and would sound crazy if Alaric didn't immediately confess. Which was where he was currently. "Uh… I just noticed you've been spending a lot of time with her lately."

Alaric put a hand to his temple, like he had an enormous headache blossoming. "Oliver… you do realize that you had me move my entire life to Angeles, right? I'm grateful for the position at St. Sebastian's, but I know no one, and believe it or not, being an Illéa makes it somewhat hard to make friends," he explained.

There was another silence as Oliver thought about it. He sighed as he leaned forward in his chair and put his face in his hands. "I'm acting like a crazy girlfriend," he realized.

"A little bit," chuckled Alaric, "You realize everyone gets along with Kaitlyn, right? She's the most welcoming person in the entire castle. Including the people whose jobs it is to actually welcome you to the castle."

"Man, I'm sorry," sighed Oliver as he rubbed his hands over his face. "There's just been a lot going on lately. I'm officially losing it."

"Don't worry about it," shrugged Alaric. He held up his list. "I'll get to work on this."

Before he could leave, Oliver decided to extend an olive branch and called out, "Hey, Alaric, why don't you head over to the party with Elijah and I tomorrow? We usually have a pregame here, if you're okay with alcohol. I don't know what the rule is for your holy, soon-to-be priest body."

Alaric laughed but looked appreciative as well. "Thanks," he grinned, "I'll be there."

Oliver worked until midnight. Because of the visiting families, he was expected to be up for breakfast at eight the next morning, which meant that he was not prepared to stay up all night trying to decide when they should sing happy birthday and how to ensure the divorced governors from Zuni and Paloma weren't seated near each other.

On the day of his actual birthday, his goal was to spend as much time with the visiting families as possible. Although the party didn't start until seven PM, he'd realized he still didn't have that much time considering how many there were and the never ending to do list that still awaited him. The best he managed was a half hour each, staggered throughout the day to try to make it look less rigidly planned.

After breakfast, he played the game of catch that he'd had to skip the previous night with Kaitlyn's brother while being regaled with tales of a young Kaitlyn (who was just as sweet as older Kaitlyn) by her mother. Once he'd made a visit to the jewel vault to pick his crown for the night, he gave Mr. and Mrs. Seymour a tour of the palace. He had a private lunch with Rosalie and her father. Then, he spent an hour returning birthday calls from foreign diplomats.

After that, he split an hour with Adelaide's mother—who decided to use it by showing Oliver some of Adelaide's biggest modeling campaigns—and Gabi's parents, who he took to the palace's largest library, in hopes it would impress Gabi's author mother. Next, he'd played a game of charades with Patricia and her parents before he raced down to the kitchen to do a final tasting for his cake, which he'd invited Brynn and her mother to. Lucille had seemed unimpressed, if not off-put, by the mass of food that was being prepared for the party which had made Oliver feel a little defeated once more.

He hadn't wanted Mae to feel left out, even though he obviously already knew Isolde and Presley well, so he'd scheduled time to watch a movie with the three girls. His biggest mistake had been deciding that they would watch it in the comfort of his room though. He soon found himself snoring on Mae's shoulder.

He didn't wake up until she gently tried to sneak out from under him. "Did I miss the movie?" he asked dumbly, even though the television screen was black, and Presley and Isolde were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah, it was over around an hour ago," Mae chuckled, "I didn't want to wake you up, but I should go get ready for the party tonight."

"You let me drool on you for an hour?" snorted Oliver as he rubbed at the crick in his neck.

"I read," she shrugged as she held up a copy of that morning's newspaper. "Besides, it seemed like you needed it."

He nodded. "I have had a pretty busy day."

"Well, hopefully you're a little more well rested for tonight," she quipped as she rose from the couch. "Anderson said Elijah and Alaric were on their way up, so I'll see you later." She shot him a brief smile before she disappeared.

Her absence was soon filled by the boisterous arrival of Elijah. "Happy birthday, man!"

Alaric filed in behind him and echoed Elijah's sentiment. "I got you a card," he added as he held out an envelope.

Oliver laughed as he accepted it. It was a nice gesture. "Thanks," he grinned as he propped it up on the coffee table, "You're actually the first person to give me something today. I mean, aside from almost every government in the world. Always flowers for some reason with them."

"Well, I'm not gonna let Illéa outshine me," countered Elijah. He pulled a battered bag from the pocket of his jacket and tossed it to Oliver.

"Ah, good ole Dom," Oliver beamed as he pulled a bottle of his favorite vintage of champagne from the bag. "You definitely should have."

He cracked open the bottle and emptied it into three glasses, far higher than the standard fill line. Alaric and Elijah each accepted one, with Alaric pausing to offer, "To Oliver's birthday?"

Elijah grinned and threw an arm around Alaric's shoulders, almost causing the latter to spill his glass. "I kind of like this nerd," he decided. The three clinked their glasses together. Elijah gulped his in two swallows, while Oliver took a little longer to enjoy the taste, and Alaric sputtered through what Oliver guessed was his first glass of champagne.

Though not disappointed, Oliver was a little surprised at how well they got along with Alaric. Being so into religion while also the offspring of perhaps Satan himself hadn't given Oliver high expectations of Alaric in a casual setting, but he was easy to get along with. He wasn't the life of the party like Oliver or the best hype man like Elijah, but he was witty and conversational once he loosened up.

Somehow, the three of them managed to get ready—and tipsy—on time. Jonathan looked a little annoyed as he tried to shepherd the three giggly men to the vintage white Rolls Royce that had been rented to take Oliver from the palace to the location. One of his insistences every year was that his party be held somewhere other than his home, since he left rarely as it was.

"Your mother's going to kill you if you show up drunk," Jonathan reminded him from the front seat.

"I'm not drunk," shrugged Oliver, "I'm just happy. Alaric's drunk." They all turned their attention to Alaric, whose face was pressed against the cool glass of the car window.

"I'm good," he insisted, flashing a thumb's up.

The car slowed in front of the gaudy red carpet that had been rolled out to make the politicians and celebrities in attendance feel special. There was already a frenzied flurry of photographers ready to capture their arrival so Elijah and Oliver threatened Alaric into pulling it together before they emerged from the car together.

Since the announcement of Alaric's promotion hadn't been made yet, the crowd seemed a little surprised by his newfound closeness to the prince. As the three made their way towards the door, pausing to pose for what Oliver deemed an adequate number of pictures, there was question after question about what their friendship meant for the Schreaves and Illéas. Oliver ignored them all, instead stopping to talk to the children or commoners that had decided to wait outside for the chance to wish the prince happy birthday. He preferred their requests for photos, nervous well wishes, and warm hugs to the brutish cacophony of the reporters.

Eadlyn had taken care of the decorations, which Oliver was thankful for as it meant that everything looked incredible. Everything was black, white, and gold, with elegant lines that perfectly captured the art deco style that he'd always enjoyed. The attire was also art deco inspired, which Oliver greatly appreciated.

"Not a bad party, right?"

He turned around to find Gabi. "It's great," he agreed. He took in her wavy blonde hair and glittering silver dress that complimented her thin frame before he added, "Just like you."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the smile that his compliments usually drew to her lips. "Do you want to check out the photobooth or maybe peek at some presents?" she suggested as she glanced around.

Oliver grimaced when he noticed his mother standing at the opposite side of the room. She was chatting with his uncle Kaden, but she seemed to be scanning the room. "I wish I could," he sighed, "But tonight is actually a pretty good example of how being queen isn't always going to be fun."

"How so?" Gabi asked, her smile faltering for a moment. "This _looks_ fun."

"Well, the problem is, our birthdays are state events," he explained, "And since it's mine, that makes me the star of the show—which really just means that I'm in charge of talking to a million boring people and having absolutely no fun."

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "Well, how long do you have to do that?"

Oliver shrugged. "Maybe I'll be able to get away after dinner?"

The disappointment deepened. "Well, if you do, come find me," she suggested, trying not to sound too let down. He promised he would before he made his way to his mother's side.

"You're late," Eadlyn noted, "And… tipsy?"

"I'm fine," he countered with a roll of his eyes. "Let's just do this before I die of boredom."

The problem with having thirty-five provinces was that there were thirty-five government officials that Oliver had to remember vague enough details about to be able to hold conversations with them. They asked inane questions ("How are you enjoying the night? Another year older, eh?"), and inevitably, every conversation seemed to have an ulterior motive. They would sneakily mention petitions that they had passed on to the palace for additional aid in their province or a law that they were trying to enact, and as always, when Oliver tried to demure, they would say, "Oh, of course, Your Highness! Enjoy your evening. Why don't we just set up a meeting for this week?" Some even punctuated their statements by whipping calendars from their pockets. After the third governor in a row tried to pencil him in, Oliver grabbed a glass of wine and stomped away.

"You're getting better," Eadlyn assured him as she followed him to the shadowy corner he'd tried to melt into. "Politics is little more than a game."

"With people's lives at stake," he chirped.

"If there were anything dire, they'd have bothered you far earlier than tonight," countered his mother. "The governors will always try to push their agendas in casual settings like a party. Especially with you. They'll think you're young and enjoying the wine or the atmosphere, so why not try to get you to commit to a meeting on a controversial issue or an open display of support since their reelection campaign is coming up soon?"

Oliver sipped his wine for a long minute. "You know I've heard some people actually enjoy their birthdays?" he noted. "What a marvel that must be."

Eadlyn's smile looked sad. "You used to," she assured him, "Your father and I knew that someday they would become this, so we tried."

He felt a little guilty. There was nothing his mother could have done to spare him the sacrifices of state events save have a different last name. "I remember the year I had a bouncy castle," he noted, "That was pretty awesome."

She chuckled into her wine. "I don't know who was more excited: your or Osten."

They reminisced for a few more moments before Eadlyn seemed to notice that the tension in his shoulders had disappeared and he'd begun to smile more easily. "Ready for round two?" she asked.

Oliver grimaced and downed the rest of his glass. "Let's do it."

Aside from the standard governors, each province had also sent a media team from their largest newspaper, which meant that he was obligated to hold a press conference in a different room of the venue. If Oliver hated the media in general, press conferences were the bane of his existence. He had to be smiling at all times in case someone snapped a random photo, and even though the reporters were given a list of topics that they were supposed to stick to, there was always that one asshat who would ask about a rumor or bring up some juicy gossip.

It started off well. He picked a spot on the back wall as he delivered his opening greeting and opened the floor to questions. The first few were boring—how was the Selection? (fine, thanks); did he have any large projects going on? (was dating nine people not enough of a project?); any timeline of when he'd take over? (his mother was still more than capable, and he was presently dedicated to learning as much as possible from her)—but as usual, someone went rogue.

"Your Highness." A reporter in the second row held a hand up to get Oliver's attention. His badge said he was from Clermont. "What can you tell us about your involvement with the Illéas?"

Caught off guard, his smile faded for a moment until he heard the increased shutter sounds from the cameras. His mother stood behind him as always, ready to move the questions along if anything got out of hand, but she didn't reach for the microphone so he racked his brain. "No involvement," he declared. "Next question."

But the reporter wasn't deterred. "Is Alaric Illéa not your guest here tonight? And is it true that you authorized a move to St. Sebastian's for him?"

Oliver glared at the reporter. More cameras furiously captured his reaction. "Okay, fine. Yes, I authorized the move. I think he'll be an asset to St. Sebastian's. The Illéas and Schreaves have had our differences, but I assure you Alaric and I intend to work closely moving forward. Next."

But the issue with one rogue reporter was that others got bold. "What can you tell us about Lady Sara Kosma's presence at the palace?"

He tried to keep his expression neutral. "She is a visiting foreign dignitary and good friend. I'll answer no further questions about palace guests."

A female voice in the backrow caught his attention. "Your Highness, we've heard a frightful rumor," the voice began. The lights made it a little harder to see the reporters in the back, so he had to squint somewhat. "Is it true that you haven't danced with a single member of your Elite tonight?" He grinned when he realized it was Patricia.

"I'm afraid that is correct," he declared in mock shame.

There were gasps from the backrow, and he realized that other girls had infiltrated the press conference as well. He smiled more genuinely than he had since taking the podium. "Surely you intend to rectify the situation immediately, don't you?" Mae asked.

"Very promptly," he assured her.

Kaitlyn piped up, "We hear they haven't even gotten the chance to give you your birthday present yet."

More mock gasps from the other girls. "It's been a busy day," Oliver conceded.

"The general fear is that their families scared you off," Xylie declared.

Oliver snorted. "It'll take more than intimidating parents to keep me away from the Elite, I assure you."

The girls all stood together. "We're kidnapping him," Gabi explained to the reporters. "Thank you all for coming and enjoy the rest of your night!" True to their word, the nine girls hustled him out of the room. Eadlyn gave a formal wrap up to the media, looking amused but not completely disapproving.

Once they'd pulled him back into the ballroom, they ordered him to take and carried over a large box. "We got this idea while we were picking our charities out for the jubilee," Rosalie explained. She looked excited, which made Oliver eager to see what was in the box as well.

"And we know that sometimes you get stressed and thought it would be nice for you to have something to wind down with," continued Xylie, "Especially on those days where no one seems to help very much."

"Open it!" Adelaide encouraged excitedly.

His mind was already trying to deduce what it was—so far, his top ideas were supplies for his minibar or maybe some kind of massager—when the box moved. He drew his hand back from the lid, completely thrown off. "Is it alive?" he demanded.

"Open it," Brynn repeated, though more forcefully than Adelaide.

He ripped the lid from the box quickly, pulling away in case something jumped out at him. The rest of the box sat still, and he watched it for a second before he deemed it safe enough to approach. When he peeked over the edge, one brown eye and one blue eye gazed back at him. Then, the little puppy gave a sad imitation of a bark.

"He's an Australian shepherd!" Adelaide explained as Oliver reached down to lift the dog from the box. "He was at a nearby shelter that was so full, and they let us come pick him out personally."

 _Shit_. The dog was the present.

As Oliver stared at the mismatched eyes, he tried to keep his face creased in a happy smile. One of his biggest insecurities about his personality was that he'd never been an animal person. Yes, he had Blackie, but he could choose to visit his horse intermittently. Blackie couldn't follow him into his room or try to get on his bed or eat his shoes.

"Wow." It was all he could think to say.

"We thought it was perfect," Xylie squealed, "It's so funny that you let Kaitlyn keep Pawnds and have taken Mae and Margaery to see their favorite animals but don't have any pets of your own, so we decided to give you one."

Even Margaery, who he'd hoped would have been able to understand his lack of fondness for animals as she did so many things about him without his having to explain, seemed enamored by the little dog. "What are you going to name him?" she asked.

He was also terrible with names. He'd joked on more than one occasion—to mixed reactions, really—that he planned on naming his kids Heir, Spare 1, Spare 2 and so forth just so he didn't have to think of actual names. He was especially terrible on the spot. He stared at the puppy. He couldn't call it dog or puppy. Pup? No, that wasn't a name.

And then an epiphany: "Pip," he decided. That was a fine name—simple, hard to forget, yet not something someone could make fun of him for as with Blackie.

There was another chorus of excited fawning over Pip's new name, and Oliver was relieved when someone took him from his hands. He picked a few errant hairs that had gotten on his jacket off and tried to repress his frown.

Luckily, he managed to escape his new charge when dinner was served. Unluckily, for efficiency's sake, he'd chosen to sit with the Elite's families for dinner. There were some that he didn't mind, of course—he rather enjoyed Patricia and Kaitlyn's families, in particular—but he could feel Brynn's mother glowering at him from her end of the table and was a little insulted when Gabi's stepfather left in the middle of the meal to take a phone call.

"This is a little surreal," Mrs. Davis chuckled from his left side when their third course was served. "With the shifts at the hospital, I'm lucky if I remember to grab dinner from the vending machine."

"Kaitlyn's told me how hard you work," Oliver remarked. "It's impressive."

Mrs. Davis waved him off. " _She's_ the impressive one really," she countered. "She was such a help after her father died, and you should see her at work. She really cares about people."

"I can tell," Oliver mused as he smiled in Kaitlyn's direction. She was seated with the rest of the Elite and appeared to be telling a story to Mae and Rosalie, who were seated on either side of her. As he watched her, Oliver realized he missed her.

"Your Highness." Orion Seymour was seated a few spots down from his right. Xander and Genesis sat between their parents, with the former looking stressed. "Xander was vague about how he met your acquaintance. I'd love to hear details." There was a note in Orion's voice that made Oliver realize he didn't believe that his son really had a worthwhile acquaintance like the prince, and it reminded Oliver of the indignation he'd felt when Margaery had told him how Xander had never been able to placate their father.

"Actually," Oliver began, "He's going to be working with me."

Orion Seymour dropped his fork, and Xander almost choked on his water. When Orion turned to gape at his son, Xander turned the color of the tomatoes in his salad and muttered, "Uh… yeah. Surprise."

When Orion recovered, he asked, "In what degree?"

Xander floundered for a moment, as the announcement hadn't been made yet, but Oliver cut in to casually declare, "On my council," before he started in on his food.

At the other end of the table, Lucille Emberly laughed. "How lucky for your son, Mr. Seymour," she noted, "It'll probably only be a few days when he gets his pick of the remaining Selected like Prince Tristan did after he was appointed to the future king's council."

A hush fell over the table as Oliver tried to process what Brynn's mother had just said. "What?"

"It just seemed a little suspicious to me," she shrugged before she innocently returned to her soup.

The table remained silent for a minute before Mrs. Davis glanced around for a server. "Why don't we get more wine?" Everyone at the table muttered their agreement as they tried to ignore the awkwardness.

Tensions slowly abated through dinner, although Mrs. Emberly made no effort to apologize to Oliver and made several other questionably snide comments. Oliver attempted to engage with the rest of the families and not to allow himself to be deterred, which he thought went rather well. After everyone had finished and 'happy birthday' had been sung over his enormous, four-tiered cake, he snagged a slice and made his way towards Kaitlyn.

"I'm sorry," he announced as he took the seat that Mae had left empty beside her.

Kaitlyn's eyes widened in confusion. Her mouth was full of cake so she couldn't express her question, but she was clearly unsure of what he was referring to. "I'm sorry about Likely," he continued, "but more so, about how I've acted about it since then. It took me a minute to realize, but I'm a lot happier when you and I are on good terms too."

Once she'd swallowed, her face broke into a wide smile. "Well, it took you long enough to decide that," she declared. He watched her eyes surreptitiously glance around to see if any of the Elite were nearby and laughed, figuring what she was thinking.

He kissed her for the first time in too long, and a tense knot that he hadn't realized had been rolling around in his stomach slowly released itself. "Jeeze," Kaitlyn smiled against his lips, "is it your birthday or mine?"

He laughed. "Well, now that you've gotten a present, isn't it only fair if I get one too?"

"Oh, your present is coming," Kaitlyn assured him, "It just might take a few days."

Oliver smiled slyly. "Something you don't want to give me while Mama Davis is in town?"

She laughed and smacked his arm. "Don't be a perv. No, I'm just working out the logistics."

"Well, I will be eagerly awaiting it," Oliver assured her. He ate the rest of his cake with her and was on his way to grab a second piece—he'd picked a great flavor—when Gabi intercepted him. "No more cake!" she declared, "You promised we could try the photo booth."

"Alright," he laughed, abandoning his pursuit of food and allowing her to drag him towards the corner of the room where the photo booth had been set up.

Gabi perched herself on his lap, and Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist. While they were taking the first picture, Gabi seemed to notice the bracelet that Oliver still wore after Presley had picked it out for him at the Harvest Festival. "It was a gift," he explained, even though she didn't ask about the source.

"I have a present for you too," she admitted with a sly smile. She cracked open the clutch that she'd brought and handed him a small box.

He cracked open the box to see a small, crystal ball lapel pin. It instantly reminded him of their date, and he liked that it was personal between the two of them. "This is amazing," he told her. "Pin it on for me?" She complied, and the photo booth snapped two final pictures: one of Oliver proudly showing off his new pin while Gabi laughed, and one of him kissing her in appreciation.

With his duties finished, he spent the rest of the night socializing. He danced with the girls—and a few mothers—and ate a few more pieces of cake than Reyna would condone at their next training session. Presley finally graced him with her presence, and they spent the better part of half an hour catching up, which he realized he'd needed much more than he thought. He even got a little drunker with Alaric, Tristan, and Elijah, but not so much that he was distracted from a very unfun decision that he had made earlier in the evening.

He stopped by Brynn's room when they returned to the palace, despite how late it was. She answered the door herself, still in her white dress from the party, though without her shoes or the pins that had held her hair into an elegant updo. "Hey," she smiled. "What's up?"

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure." She stepped aside, and he followed her to the couch in her room. "What's going on?"

"I need to talk to you about… well, about us," he admitted.

Brynn froze. "Is this about everything with Sara?"

"No," countered Oliver. He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair uncomfortably. "It's actually about your mom." Brynn looked a little uncomfortable. "She's not my biggest fan, is she?"

"She can be… a bit difficult," Brynn explained evasively. "She didn't really want me to enter in the first place, so I think it's just takin her some time to come around to the idea."

"Four months?" Oliver asked, his frown deepening. Brynn was silent.

He sighed deeply before he explained, "Brynn… whoever I marry, I want to know that her parents approve. I want to know that they think that their daughter is going to be happy with me."

Tears flooded her eyes, and she looked away. "Maybe if we just talked to her about it tomorrow—"

"I've made my decision about it," countered Oliver. "There are other issues in our relationship that I don't think either of us are willing to compromise on as well."

When Brynn looked back at him, her eyes were still red with unshed tears, but she shrugged weakly. "I don't want to try to convince you to let me stay."

He nodded. "I wouldn't want you to. You deserve something effortless."

Despite her obvious disappointment, Brynn nodded. "We both do." He gave her a hug and struggled to pretend he didn't feel the tremble of her back as she repressed her tears. Eliminations were only getting harder, and he had a feeling that wasn't a trend that was going to let up any time soon.

He was exhausted when he finally returned to his room. Sleep was at the top of his list of priorities, so important that he barely registered it when Anderson informed him, "You have a call."

Oliver groaned. "Take a message, and I'll return it tomorrow." He kicked off his shoes, prepared to dive face first onto his plush bed.

"It's Nikolai."

He froze, plans to sleep forgotten. He wordlessly followed Anderson into the study and picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Oliver! How fortunate to catch you awake. I'm not disturbing anything, am I?" The Russian noble sounded like he was on the edge of laughter, as he surely knew it was three AM in Angeles.

"No, of course not," Oliver rolled his eyes, even though Nikolai couldn't see him.

"Wonderful. I wanted to call and give you our well wishes on your birthday. It simply slipped my mind yesterday."

Oliver snorted. "Well, thanks, but—"

Nikolai cut him off. "You see, I would've send a gift, but it appears you already have something that belongs to me."

There it was—the real reason for the call.

"That's funny," remarked Oliver, "I don't see anything around here that belongs to you."

The grand duke's voice was much less restrained when he responded. "I've been patient enough," he decided, "I want her back."

"You'll have to take that up with her," countered Oliver, "Now if you'll excuse me, Nikolai—"

"If you don't send her back, I'll simply have to take something from you."

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that he was exhausted, or purely that he hated Nikolai, but Oliver laughed. "I'd like to see you try," he smirked before he slammed the phone down on the receiver. Pip, who'd sat in front of Oliver for the duration of the call, cocked his head to the side. "Showed him," Oliver muttered confidently. Pip gave a squeak of agreement.

Oliver evaluated the small dog for a long second before he reached forward and picked him up. Pip excitedly licked his hand and seemed content with being held. "Damn it, they were right," he realized. He was kind of comforting. He made his way back into his room and finally fell into bed, not all together disappointed when Pip followed, curling up at the foot of it.


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the first upload of my week of Christmas :) Enjoy!

* * *

The morning after Oliver's birthday was a little weird.

First, Mrs. Emberly made a bit of a commotion as she and Brynn left. While her dislike of Oliver was clear, it seemed that she was further enraged by her daughter's dismissal. Brynn had looked embarrassed while her mother ranted loudly about how rude and immature she'd found the prince—until Jonathan showed her from the palace, of course.

Next, Oliver found himself sitting in St. Sebastian's, attending church for the second time in November (a new record, since the month held no typically religious holidays). He dragged a relieved Tristan away from wedding planning and a hungover Elijah along with him, the three dutifully seated in the back to support Alaric's first mass.

His church attendance led to the third weird occurrence of the day, which was the official announcement of his new council members. He decided to do it via a statement that was released through the palace instead of an official appearance in front of a camera, having gotten enough of those the previous evening.

Families were due to leave later that evening, so Oliver decided to have a casual lunch. His parents and siblings all attended, and it was the best chance he'd had so far to hang out with the people that might be his in-laws since they'd arrived. The subtraction of Mrs. Emberly left him feeling more relaxed, as everyone else genuinely seemed to like him for some reason or another.

Once all his obligations were out of the way, he decided to take a personal day. He worked out with Reyna and got a massage after lunch then took Pip for a walk while everyone was saying goodbye to their families. The puppy hadn't started listening to him yet—Oliver had already lost a pair of Italian leather shoes to the devilish dog—but Oliver had a feeling that at some point he'd figure out how dogs were supposed to behave.

He had a full day of meetings on Monday, so he decided to use the remainder of his Sunday to get his affairs in order. He was laying on his couch dictating to Anderson about his schedule for the week and watching the Lions game when his brother appeared around six.

"Hey," he greeted Tristan, "What's up? Please don't tell me Isolde's sent you for me. I listened to her talk about flowers for an hour earlier, and honestly, they all looked identical to me."

"Nope," countered Tristan. He had an oddly mischievous gleam in his eye that made Oliver a little nervous. "Get dressed."

"Where are we going?" Oliver frowned as he sat up somewhat.

Tristan disappeared into his closet and grabbed a suit. "This should do."

"Where—"

"Get dressed," Tristan repeated more forcefully. "Now."'

Tristan wasn't very good at surprises—mostly because he didn't like them himself—but he ignored all of Oliver's questions as the latter took a shower and got dressed. "You realize it's seven PM on a Sunday, right?" Oliver demanded as he struggled with his bow tie. "There's literally no event that I need to be getting dressed for right now."

"Uh huh," replied Tristan. He was already dressed in a suit himself, nudging Pip away with his foot so that he didn't get fur on his clothes. "Who thought it was a good idea to get you a dog?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "The girls," he explained, "I guess if you don't want people to get you pets you have to advertise the fact that you don't like animals?"

"Well, what are you going to do with him?" Tristan asked. He shot a confused look from Oliver to the dog.

"Uh…" Oliver blinked. He hadn't thought about giving the dog away, since it seemed kind of rude. But if Tristan was condoning it, it couldn't be that bad. "I don't know," he admitted, "I was planning on just keeping him."

His younger brother laughed. "Please, Oliver," he scoffed, "You can't take care of a dog. You can barely take care of yourself."

Oliver glared. "Hey, I took him for a walk today," he protested.

"And have fed him shoes, I see," noted Tristan as he nudged the ruined loafers with the toe of his own shoes.

"I also gave him some chicken wings during the Lions game," he countered. "Anyway, now do you want to tell me where we're going?"

"Nope," declined Tristan. He put his hands on Oliver's back and led him from the room.

There was a sleek black town car idling outside the palace for them, and Oliver's confusion only grew when he slid into the car to find his future sister-in-law awaiting them. "Took you long enough," Isolde noted. She seemed in a better mood than Oliver had seen her in lately, and the smartphone that rarely left her hands since her wedding planning had gone into overdrive was absent for the first time in weeks.

"So, you're in on this surprise too?" Oliver asked. Isolde smiled playfully in response but said nothing else.

Jonathan slid into the front passenger seat. "Everyone ready to go?"

"As soon as someone tells me where we're going," quipped Oliver.

Again, everyone ignored him, a new occurrence that Oliver didn't like. They took a short drive through the city outside of the palace, zipping down an alley that Oliver found a little sketchy. "You're not going to drug me and steal my organs to sell on the black market, are you?" he frowned at Isolde. "I know royal weddings are expensive, but if you need money, there are better ways than stolen kidneys."

The slightest hint of a smile tugged at her mouth, but she didn't confirm or deny Oliver's suspicions. The car slowed, and the three waited for Jonathan to open their door. When they emerged from the car, Oliver noticed that Isolde was equally dressed up, a fur stole draped over her arms and a glittering, knee-length dress peeking out from beneath her coat. She took Tristan's arm, and Oliver followed the pair into a restaurant.

The restaurant was closed, save a single worker who was cleaning glasses behind the bar. Tristan raised a hand in greeting to him, to which the man gave them a brief nod. Tristan walked with a purpose, like he knew where he was going, so Oliver followed close behind.

They made their way down a dark staircase and towards a dimly lit hallway. The secrecy made Oliver uncomfortable, and he was prepared to demand to know where the hell they were going when Tristan paused outside another door that had a sign that read, "Please ring bell for attention." Tristan disregarded the sign and knocked in a pattern—two brief raps, followed by a pause and two more forceful knocks.

A small opening in the door slid open to reveal a pair of eyes. "Password?"

Isolde smirked at Oliver before she responded: "Long live the King."

The slot in the door closed, and a moment later, it swung open. The room looked dark, and Oliver was about to declare that he was not going in there when Tristan shoved him forward.

The lights burst to life at Oliver's arrival, and he jumped when a chorus of, "Happy birthday!" assaulted him.

His senses were overwhelmed, and his head swiveled around to take everything in. The club was dimly lit, with brick walls, a dark mahogany bar and tables, and dark maroon couches. Most of the lighting was from tall candles, and there was a jazz band on a small stage on the other side of the room.

Everyone was dressed similarly to Tristan and Isolde, in suits or glimmering dresses in a 1920s style. There was a haze of smoke from cigars, gambling opportunities at different tables throughout the room, and numerous champagne towers in addition to the fully stocked bar.

"It's a speakeasy," Oliver realized, a smile growing on his face as he looked around. He turned to his brother. "Did you guys plan this?"

He nodded excitedly and put an arm around his fiancée's shoulders. "It's part of the reason she's been so crazy lately," he explained, "We were planning a wedding _and_ a surprise birthday party."

"This is amazing," he declared. He threw an arm around each of them and pulled them into a hug. "You guys are the best."

Isolde wriggled free. "Can we get a drink for the birthday boy?"

Everyone complied, and Oliver soon found himself with a drink in each hand and a cigar hanging out of his mouth as he lounged on one of the soft couches. "Shocked?" Elijah smirked as he sidled up to his friend.

"Very," Oliver assured him, "Mostly that you and all of my girlfriends managed to keep this a secret."

"I was threatened," admitted Elijah. He glanced in Isolde's direction. "I think the exact phrasing was something like 'ruin the secret, I ruin your life.'"

Oliver snorted, completely unsurprised. He saw Sara slip into the room and raised a hand in greeting but paused when he noticed that she wasn't paying him any attention. Her eyes did a brief sweep of the room, visibly lighting up when they landed on someone across the room. Oliver watched her as she made her way through the crowd towards Jonathan. "Do you see this?" he demanded, smacking Elijah and pointing his attention in the direction of his friend and body guard.

Elijah choked on his drink. "Who knew Jonathan had game?"

"I don't think _Jonathan_ knows he does," countered Oliver. He watched Jonathan blush as Sara greeted him with a hug and noticed the way he nervously pulled at the sleeves of his suit jacket, a giveaway that he was uncomfortable.

"Raphael's going to be disappointed," chortled Elijah, "He was trying to move in."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Sara has far too good taste to go for Raph," he declared dismissively.

Kaitlyn and Alaric soon made their way towards the pair, the former smiling enormously at Oliver. "Happy birthday!" she declared as she hugged him so energetically that she almost spilled his champagne.

"Hi," laughed Oliver, returning the embrace. "Has someone been enjoying the extensive drink menu?"

"I did shots with Mae and Alaric!" declared Kaitlyn. "They were fun!"

The three men laughed at the tipsy girl, but they didn't have any time to tease her, because the band soon started to play. "I love this song!" Kaitlyn declared.

The song had a distinctively 1920s jazz sound to it, which made Oliver furrow his brow in confusion. He didn't seem to be the only one perplexed by her affinity for it, as Alaric added, "Do you even know this song?"

It didn't matter though, because Kaitlyn had decided she loved it and pulled Oliver to the dance floor with her. She wasn't sloppy drunk, but she was definitely more energetic and happier, which he hadn't realized was possible. "I'm glad we're okay," Oliver realized as he stared down at her.

Kaitlyn beamed up at her. "Me too," she assured him, pulling him closer to lean her head on his shoulder, even though the song wasn't suited to slow dancing.

After his dance with Kaitlyn, Oliver decided to do a quick pass around the room. The club was somewhat small, but it was only packed with people that Oliver was genuinely excited to see—friends that he'd fallen out of touch with since the start of the Selection, minor royals that he truly was excited to see. There was no one that he felt obligated to be nice to, no boring conversations that he had to suffer through until he saw an escape.

He paused near a blackjack table where he saw Gabi and Patricia whispering together. His eyebrows quirked in amusement as he approached them. "Are… are you guys cheating?" he asked, the laughter barely contained.

"Shh!" countered Gabi.

Oliver held his hands up. "Sorry," he laughed, "But—"

"Patricia is trying to learn how to count cards," she whispered. If the dealer heard, he didn't notice.

"And you?" he asked, his amusement evident on his face.

Gabi shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just a really good blackjack player," she declared, "Poker too, in case you were wondering."

Oliver laughed. "Well, if I ever decide to go to the casinos in Zuni, I know who I'm taking with me."

Gabi smirked. "Are you inviting me on a date?"

He hadn't realized it would sound like that, but he didn't dislike the idea of another date with Gabi. "Maybe," he admitted, "I'll see if I can make it happen."

"I would love that," she beamed. She glanced back at the table. "Oh, Patricia, you're going to—"

"Bust," the dealer declared as he put another card down in front of Patricia.

"Ugh!" The brunette turned away from the table. "This is not as easy as they make it look in the movies." He tried to coach Patricia through the next few games, but as good as she was at chess, she was really terrible at blackjack. She was somewhat impatient, always thinking that she could do a little better and requesting another card even when Oliver recommended they stay. It was a good thing they weren't betting actual money, or Patricia would have already lost all of her profits from the Selection.

He decided to grab another drink after he'd left the game table. He headed to the bar and was scanning the menu when Mae slid into the seat beside him.

"Need a suggestion?" she asked.

"Oh, you're a drink connoisseur?" smirked Oliver.

"Try the moonshine," Mae instructed deviously.

He scoffed. "Only if you take a shot with me," he challenged.

Although he expected Mae to decline, she shrugged. "Only if it's a double." He laughed but repeated her request to the bartender. Two shot glasses were placed on the bar in front of them and filled to the brim with the clear liquor. Oliver took a deep breath and slammed the drink back, barely repressing the urge to cough when he'd finished. When he glanced to his left, Mae looked unfazed, her shot glass empty before her.

"Bet you can't do it twice though," teased Oliver, a little embarrassed that she'd taken the drink more easily than he had. Mae ordered the drinks this time and swallowed hers as neatly as the first time, while some of Oliver's dribbled down his chin.

"How are you doing this?" Oliver asked as he marveled at her. He ordered an old fashioned, done with the moonshine shots.

Mae shrugged her shoulders. "I've always known how to handle my alcohol." She picked up the tiny glass and raised it with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the amber liquor down her throat. When she set the glass down, she didn't even make a face the way Tristan did when he took shots.

"You are full of surprises," he chuckled.

"A few," she conceded.

Oliver swished his drink around in his glass. "You know, most girls pretend to be drunk after a couple of drinks," he noted, "Or they really get drunk off two glasses, and then their friend's holding their hair back all night." For some reason, he was thinking of the last party that he'd had with Elijah and Raphael, only weeks before he'd known he was going to have a Selection. It had been a hazy mess, the kind of party that Oliver had used to love.

"Is that how they got the prince's attention?" Mae asked. A smirk tugged at her mouth, and for maybe the first time, Oliver realized that in her line of work she'd seen the parties he used to love, the girls that used to love him, and the guy he used to be.

"It wasn't hard to get my attention," Oliver admitted. There was a bitter edge to his voice and in his mind as he thought about the person he used to be.

Mae's dark eyebrows knit together. "Do you… not like the party?" she asked. She seemed confused by his demeanor.

"No, no," he countered. He glanced around. "Tristan and Isolde knocked it out of the park with the theme."

"But…?" Mae prompted.

As he took stock of the room and looked at the people rather than the directions, he realized, "Everyone in this room cares about me."

Beside him, Mae laughed. "I never would've pinned you as a philosophical drunk."

He had to laugh too. He probably sounded ridiculous. "I'm not," he countered, "I guess I've just never had this before."

"What do you mean?" she queried.

"Everyone tonight came out for me," he clarified, "Not for the prince or a VIP treatment or to get their pictures in a magazine for making out with the prince. These people would be here without the alcohol or the cool decorations or the awesome food."

Mae's confusion transformed into a knowing smile. "Ah." She took a sip from the new drink that the bartender had set before it. "Not a philosophical drunk but an emotional one."

Although Oliver snorted at the assessment, he realized that she was right. Tonight, he was, at least. "Sue me," he declared as he put an arm around her waist and pulled her from her chair. She laughed at him, a little patronizingly, as he hugged her, but eventually, her arms wrapped around him as well.

"Why don't we take a walk?" she suggested. "Air might be nice."

"Alright," he agreed. It was a little hot inside. He stood, realizing that he hadn't moved from his chair in a few drinks and that his feet felt a little heavier than normal. It wasn't enough to convince him to sit back down though, so he took Mae's hand and led her towards the back door.

There was a little alley that ran behind the club, and they wandered down it together. It was a little cold, so Mae walked close beside him, and Oliver kept an arm around her waist. "Do you think you would've liked me if we'd met before?" he asked.

"Before the Selection?" she laughed. He nodded, and she paused to think about it. "I think so."

"Really?" snorted Oliver. "I was kind of an ass."

"I think you acted like an ass, not that you were an ass," Mae countered, "But I'm pretty good at seeing through an act."

"I was pretty charming," contested Oliver.

"Oh yeah?" she asked with a smirk. "Because when I first met you, you got drunk at a wine and sushi, and then ran away from me at a pool party."

He laughed as he recalled the rocky start to his Selection. "Only because I didn't have my charm fully turned on," he protested.

"How would you have charmed me?" Mae smirked.

Oliver stopped walking and drew her back towards him. "Well, first," he declared, "I would have opened with telling you how beautiful you are."

"Original," retorted Mae.

He situated her between him and the brick wall of the building. "Then I would've gotten closer."

"Invading my space? That's the extent of your charm?" she demanded.

He ignored her attempts at diversion and gently trailed his fingers up her bare arm. His free hand settled on her waist. "Then I probably would've broken out the heavy hitters," he admitted, "Told you something like 'you're not like other girls' or that you 'get me.'"

Mae laughed. "Wow. That worked?"

Oliver smirked as he stared down at her. They were so close now, the space between their bodies seeming electrified. Oliver moved a hand to up to her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his. "I don't know," he admitted, "You tell me."

Mae's chest was rising and falling much more slowly than normal, as though she was struggling to keep herself collected. There was a slight flush rising in her cheeks as well, even though he'd barely touched her. "The act was cheesy," she decided, "but _you_ work." She grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Whether it was the reminiscence of old Oliver or the number of drinks the speakeasy themed party had inspired him to drink, the kiss was different. It wasn't better, per se, but it was more. His mouth explored hers more confidently than before, the familiar feel of her soft lips combined with the previously unfamiliar taste of liquor on her tongue. He used one forearm to keep them propped up against the wall, while the other slipped to her back to press her even closer, although there was such little space that his knuckles scraped against the brick wall in the process.

She caught him off guard with a gasp of breath. "What's wrong?" Oliver frowned down at her. Despite the cool night air, both of them were gasping for breath.

"It's nothing," countered Mae. She tried to pull him back to her, but he looked concerned as she stumbled off balance somewhat. When his questioning gaze refused to let it go, she admitted, "Uh… it's my shoe."

He glanced down to the impossibly high heels that she was wearing. "I just twisted my ankle a little," she shrugged, "But it's fine."

"Why are you wearing such ridiculous shoes?" he laughed.

Mae looked perplexed by the question. "They go with my dress perfectly."

He rolled his eyes and took a step back. "Where are you going?" she frowned. But before she could question him further, he'd swept her off her feet and into his arms. "Ah! Where are we going?" she demanded through a peal of laughter.

Tipsy Oliver was probably more of a liability than her sky-high shoes, so he only led them as far as the steps that led back into the club. Mae didn't move from his lap, instead kicking off the outrageous shoes. "That feels better," she sighed as she leaned back against Oliver's chest.

He glanced down at her bare feet, smiling when he saw her tattoo again. "I want a tattoo," he decided as he outlined hers with his finger.

"Of what?" she laughed.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Get one with me. They can match."

Immediately, he felt her stiffen and could tell that he'd said something wrong, although he wasn't sure what. She reached for her shoes. "I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"Why not?" he frowned.

Mae huffed as she shoved her feet back into the painful heels. "Oliver… sometimes, you can be really dumb."

He was confused at the turn that their conversation had taken. "Why are you mad at me?" Her anger had made him feel less buzzed and sharper, but he still had no clue where he'd gone wrong.

It seemed that his cluelessness did little to alleviate Mae's irritation. "Can we just drop it and go back inside?" she demanded.

But whether it was the alcohol or his irritation over the moment that they'd just lost, he countered, "No. We're not dropping it. What the hell just happened?"

Mae's usually thoughtful green eyes were fiery as she swung on him. "I _don't_ want to talk about it."

"Well, _I do_ ," snapped Oliver.

"Oh, and because you're the prince, you just get what you want?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" demanded Oliver. Mae seemed uncharacteristically angry with him; in fact, he'd never seen her lash out at anyone in such a way and for a moment wondered if she was an angry drunk.

Her eyes looked watery, though he wasn't sure if they were tears of sadness or frustration. "I can't sit here and listen to you say things like 'let's get matching tattoos' or how much you care about me and then watch you run off to kiss a different girl or treat them like they hang the sun in the sky." She explained it all in a rush, as though she was afraid if she didn't get it all out at once she never would. When she was finished, she took a heaving breath and took an angry swipe at a tear that had escaped her eye.

"Mae…"

"Don't," she countered. "Please, just let me go back inside."

He didn't know what else there was to do, so he nodded weakly and watched as she climbed the stairs that led back into the club. The beads on her green dress glittered just as happily before, but her shoulders were rounded, slumped forward in sadness.

It made sense. Her frustration or disappointment or whatever it was. He could see how the Selection could be hard. In the end, one person would stay. He could tell them all how much he cared about them—and meant it every time he said it—but there was only one person that he would love for the rest of their lives. And even though he knew it could only be one person, that didn't mean that he could stop the others from caring too much for him and getting hurt.

He'd realized it when he sent Brynn home. It was getting harder. People were starting to care more, opening themselves up to the possibility of what could be. For someone like Mae, who'd gotten used to being alone and hadn't had someone else to care for in a long time, it must've been particularly scary.

Maybe he'd taken it too far with the tattoos. He'd meant it when he said, but as he thought about it, he realized that he wouldn't end the Selection tomorrow for her. He wasn't there yet.

But it didn't mean that he was going to let her push him away either.

He headed back inside decisively, ready to insist that they work things out. But before he could find her, a bright, smiling face called his name. Adelaide was seated at the edge of the bar, looking a little shy as she waved at him.

He glanced back towards Mae, who was in a deep conversation with Presley and Isolde. She didn't seem interested in him, so he decided to spare himself the stress for the moment and detoured to the seat beside Adelaide. "Happy birthday," she smiled.

"My birthday was yesterday," he reminded her. "But thank you. Are you having a good time?"

"Yes," she said instantly, "It's nice after… the weekend."

He thought back to the few times that he'd seen her while everyone's families had been visiting. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," beamed Adelaide. "Anything."

He hadn't realized he knew until he said it. "Your mom is the reason for the scars on your legs, isn't she?"

While she'd never had the best posture, often looking a little insecure, she shrank in on herself. "That's silly," she decided after a moment, "What would make you think—"

"Addie."

The dark blue eyes slowly made their way towards him. "I don't know what to say," she admitted in a small whisper.

Anger slowly built in Oliver's chest. " _You_ don't have to say anything," he insisted, " _Her_ , on the other hand—"

"Please don't say anything to anyone," Adelaide requested desperately. She sounded terrified, like anyone finding out about the abuse that she'd suffered at her mother's hands was her biggest fear.

Oliver grit his teeth together. "I won't tell anyone," he agreed, "for now. But no matter how this Selection ends, you're not going back home to her.

For a moment, he was worried that he'd said the wrong thing, because her face fell into a frown. "Why would you do something like that for me?" she asked, staring at a spot on the bar.

Oliver laughed. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "I care about you. All of you.

She stared at him for a long moment of silence before she leaned forward and kissed him. His first thought was concern that someone might see them, as he was in full view of the other Elite, but he had a feeling that the kiss was more for her, to remind her that there were people that cared about her or that there were better things awaiting her than there were behind, so he ignored the alarm in his brain and returned the kiss.

It didn't last as long as his kiss with Mae, as a pair of arms wrapped around his neck and surprised him. "Look at you love birds!" giggled Xylie. "Why don't you just end the Selection today if that's how you're feeling, Ollie?"

He tried to laugh it off as Adelaide blushed at Xylie's interruption. Xylie grabbed Adelaide's drink off the bar and toasted the two before she made her way back towards the dance floor.

"I should check on her," Oliver decided. Adelaide nodded, and they parted, an air of awkwardness between the two of them though Oliver wasn't sure if it was because of the kiss that Adelaide had initiated or Xylie's interruption.

When he caught up to her, it was clear that Xylie was drunk. Not drunk like Mae had been, but past her limit, giggly, potentially going to be sick later drunk. She looked happy as she raised a pink drink and took another drink, not even noticing when someone of it sloshed down the front of her sparkly dress.

But as Oliver watched her laugh, twirl, and bump into the people around her, he realized that that would have been him at sixteen as well. He didn't know how to handle his liquor then—one of his first experiences was with brandy at a dinner party in Britannia where he'd accidentally thrown up on the hosts shoes—and it reminded him of just how young Xylie was.

Sixteen. She had so much life ahead of her and not a lot of experiences behind her. Sure, she'd struggled through the loss of her father and the way that it had impacted her. But she had a lot of growing and learning to do still.

And Oliver wasn't sure that he was the person she was supposed to do all those things with.

It wasn't a realization that made him feel relieved, as his eliminations had just begun to make him sadder the longer the Selection went on. But he set his drink down on the bar and approached her anyway.

"Oliver!" she beamed. She took him by the hands, sloshing more of her drink on the floor. "Dance with me!"

He laughed for a moment and conceded to twirl her. But the action was too swift for her, and she ended up teetering sideways, caught off balance. "Oops," she snorted as more of her drink spilled, though this time on a couple dancing close to them.

"Do you want to sit down?" Oliver asked as he coaxed the drink from her hand. He was the last person to be a killjoy, particularly at a party, but he wasn't interested in spending the night holding her hair back while she was sick.

She allowed him to lead her to a nearby table and only when they were seated did she realize that she'd lost her accessory. "Oh, waiter!" she yelled, attracting the attention of more than a few people around them. Oliver tried not to cringe, remembering the times his drunken antics had drawn more attention than he'd intended. "Another pink drink!"

He discreetly requested that the waiter bring her a water instead, and in her inebriation, she hardly noticed the difference as she drained the glass. Only after she'd put the glass down and looked around blearily did he speak. "Xylie, do you like me?"

The questioned seemed to not quite make sense to her. "Of course." She burped and reached for her glass again, her disappointment evident when she realized it was empty.

Oliver leaned his chin on his hand and studied her for a moment. "Why do you like me?" he asked.

There was a pause. "Well, because you're cute," was the first thing she came up with. Then her face widened into a smile, and she threw her arms into the air. "And you throw fun parties like this!"

They were the types of answers he'd expected from her. "Is that enough to make you want to marry me?" he asked. "What if someday you realize that something else would make you happier?"

Her unfocused gaze landed on him for a long moment. It was clear she'd never considered the question. "Then I'll go do whatever does make me happy," she shrugged.

But that wasn't possible—not if she married him. Divorce was possible in Illéa, of course. Any couple could decide that there were things that made them happier or come to the painful realization that their love had faded.

Except for him.

The first time he'd realized the permanence of a marriage for his family had been as a child. He'd heard a story about his great grandfather Clarkson, one that didn't portray the king in a particularly good light. Confused, he'd asked his mother about his great grandmother. "If Grandmother Amberly was so good and Grandfather Clarkson wasn't, why didn't she go find a different husband? Someone who was nice like her?"

Eadlyn had seemed surprised, like it was something she'd never considered because of the pure impossibility of the situation. "Because that's what we do, Oliver," she'd explained with a tight smile, "As royals, we endure. So pick carefully, my love, because I want you to be happy."

While he doubted that Xylie would be happy with him for the rest of her life, he knew that he wouldn't be happy with her. She was young and beautiful and sweet when she chose to be, but they were at different places. More so, he had a feeling that they were just very different people. She understood him on a surface level, the parties, the jokes, the extravagance. But when she looked into his soul, the truly deep things, Oliver had a feeling that Xylie would be daunted, like she was trying to read something written in a dead language. Try as she might, she'd never understand it.

She swayed in her seat, the confusion of their conversation already faded from her face. "Why don't we head back to the palace?" suggested Oliver. "It's late. We could grab food and put on comfortable clothes."

Xylie nodded her agreement, her golden curls flopping into her face. "Let's go." She hoped off her seat onto unsteady feet and accepted the arm that Oliver offered to her, if for no reason other than stability.

She mostly babbled for the drive back to the palace, while Oliver grappled with whether he should tell her now or wait until the morning. If he told her of her elimination tonight, there was the possibility that it wouldn't bother her as much. But there was also a possibility that she'd be sent into a drunken breakdown, which Oliver was not prepared for. Or he could tell her in the morning, although she'd likely already be fighting the discomfort of a hangover.

As their car slowed in the driveway of the palace though, she leaned her head contentedly against the window and sighed, "This was the best night." It was enough to solidify Oliver's decision that he would wait until morning. He would at least let her have this final night.

Before they made their way back to her room, he sent down to the kitchen for all his usual favorite drunk foods: macaroni and cheese, French fries, and pizza. It was a questionable combination, but he could tell that he'd ordered correctly when Xylie's face lit up at the delivery. They changed into sweatpants and spent an hour watching a documentary about a soccer player that Xylie was interested in while they stuffed their faces and Oliver coerced her into drinking numerous glasses of water. She hardly made it to the end of the documentary, already starting to doze off when Oliver decided to take his leave. "Best night," she reaffirmed, sighing contentedly on his shoulder before she hugged him goodbye. It lit a small flicker of guilt in his stomach, but he forced a smile.

He was up early the following morning, before anyone even had the chance to try to wake him. The castle was still quiet aside from the general breakfast preparations in the dining room, and Oliver didn't encounter anyone on his way to Xylie's room.

When he knocked on the door, a sheepish maid informed him that her charge was in the bathroom. Oliver cringed, sent the maid to the kitchen for some ginger ale and aspirin, and knocked tentatively on the door. "Xylie?"

"Oliver." She sounded miserable. "Uh, do you think you could come back later? I don't feel—" There was a brief groan before the heaving started.

He momentarily considered slinking back to his room as she'd requested, but he took a deep breath and opened the door. Xylie was crouched low near the toilet, her makeup from the previous night smeared under her eyes and a weak pallor chilling her skin. She looked so tiny and sad that she reminded him of Celine or Amelie whenever they were sick, and he felt his face softened as he leaned on the edge of the bathtub.

"I'm never drinking again," pledged Xylie as she leaned back on the marble floor of the bathroom.

Oliver laughed. "I've heard and said that before."

"It was fun until this morning," she sighed.

Oliver chewed his lip. "Yeah, I kind of came to talk to you about something."

Despite her nausea, Xylie instantly seemed to know. "What?" she gasped, sitting up so fast that the color drained from her face once more. "But…" She frowned, as though trying to remember something. "We had fun last night… didn't we?"

He wasn't surprised that she didn't have definite memories of the previous night. "Yeah," he assured her, "but I don't think that we would have fun together forever."

Her eyes welled with tears. "We could," she protested.

"And what if we didn't?" he asked.

Whether it was because she felt sick or just simply didn't understand, there was no answer in her eyes. "But I do have fun with you," she argued, "That wouldn't just… just stop one day. That's not how love works."

"But is that love?" frowned Oliver. "Just someone that you can have a good time with?"

She shrugged her shoulders weakly. "Maybe we could find more?"

"I can't take that chance," countered Oliver. "This is it for me. There's no trying again if I get it wrong—it's a mistake that I and whoever I marry would have to live with forever if it turns out that we're not right for each other."

Xylie stared blankly at the floor. "I think I'm going to throw up again," she whimpered.

Oliver barely managed to collect all her golden hair before she was hugging the porcelain basin again. He grabbed a hair tie from the counter and managed to collect it into a sad bun, which she managed to chuckle at when she'd regained her composure. "Drink all of the ginger ale and take the aspirin," Oliver instructed when her maid returned. "And sleep. As much as you can."

"What about leaving?" Xylie asked. Her voice sounded hollow, like she hadn't yet come to terms with it.

"Don't worry about it today," Oliver assured her. "I want you to feel better before you leave. I just thought that if I was going to ruin your day, it might as well be one that was already marred by your first hangover."

"Well… thanks, I guess." Oliver offered a hand to her, and Xylie allowed him to lead her back into her room. He gave her maid the same instructions, grabbed her an extra blanket when he saw the hangover shivers racking her small frame, and placed a wastebasket beside her in the event that she felt sick again.

"Need anything else?" he asked as he lingered near the door.

Xylie frowned. "Just… a question."

"Sure," he shrugged. He supposed he at least owed it to her to answer any questions she had.

"What next?" she asked. There was a frown between her eyebrows, and she looked more seriously concerned than he'd seen before.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "but the good news is, you're only sixteen. You've got a lot of time to figure it out."

She nodded. "I guess you're right."

He instructed her to send for him if she needed anything and pulled the door shut behind him.

There were seven girls left. His pool was narrowing, but Oliver felt like he was desperately grasping for some kind of clarity that continued to constantly evade him.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note:** Week of Christmas day 2! Thanks to all of the sweet reviews you guys left last chapter, I'm so glad you're excited about the week of updates :) Enjoy, this chapter features one of my favorite non-main character ships :D

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Jonathan had been Oliver's body guard for a very long time. He'd seen his imposing sidekick tackle people to the ground when they approached the prince too aggressively. He'd laughed as Jonathan had carried a passed-out Elijah back to their car after more than one party. He'd waited impatiently while Jonathan swept every vehicle or new location before he was allowed to enter, always hoping to encounter a threat first himself before it could ever engage the prince.

But in none of these instances had he ever seen Jonathan look nervous. It was a foreign look on the tall, tan, burly man.

"I should cancel," Jonathan frowned for the millionth time.

Oliver jumped off his bed. "No," he declared as he threw himself in front of the door before Jonathan could reach it. "You are not canceling."

"You'd be crazy to," snorted Elijah. Alaric nodded his head solemnly from beside Elijah.

Jonathan shook his head. "No, crazy was asking her out in the first place!"

Elijah rolled his eyes and tossed his phone aside. "Well, she said yes, didn't she?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then what are you worried about?" demanded the curly haired lord.

"I'm worried that she was intoxicated or had an illness that affected her mental capacity when she agreed!" Jonathan declared. He turned back towards the door. "Move." One pull of the door handle by Jonathan almost sent Oliver flopping out of the way, but he steeled himself against the door, using all of the ab strength that he'd been working on in the gym with Reyna.

"Nope," Oliver insisted, "You are going on this date. Sure, you might be a little mismatched—"

"She's drop dead gorgeous," interjected Elijah.

"But," continued Oliver, "Sara likes you for more than your muscles or your perfectly round head. She likes that you're loyal and care about people and make her laugh." Jonathan's forehead creased, like he was wondering how Oliver knew all these things, so he added, "Uh, her words, not mine. Except the round head part. Really, I don't think I've ever seen someone who looked better bald."

"It's not bald, it's shaved," Jonathan corrected him. "But she really said that?"

"Yes," Oliver confirmed.

Elijah rolled his eyes and turned to Alaric. "This is why we don't tell Oliver secrets."

"Noted," remarked the young Illéa.

Oliver ignored them and clapped Jonathan on the shoulders. "So, you are going to go on this date," he declared, opening the door, "And you're gonna come back right after and tell us how it went." Jonathan nodded resolutely, took a deep breath, and disappeared through the door.

Pleased with his encouragement, Oliver fell onto the couch and reached for the remote. "I think there's a football game on tonight," he remarked to Alaric and Elijah as he scanned the channels. "Want to order a pizza and watch it?"

"I don't understand football," countered Alaric as he set aside the book he'd been perusing and got to his feet. "Besides, I told Kaitlyn I'd watch this documentary on medieval medicine that she's been really excited about with her."

Thinking about what could possibly entailed under medieval medical practices, Oliver crinkled his nose in disgust. "That sounds awful, and I hope you have a terrible time," he declared. He turned to Elijah. "You in?"

Elijah fidgeted. "I can't," he sighed. "I have this… thing."

Oliver frowned. "What kind of thing?"

"Just a thing," countered Elijah with an air of forced casualness.

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "With who?"

The discomfort radiating off his friend was practically palpable. "Uh… Everly."

The remote fell out of Oliver's hand. "My cousin Everly?" he demanded.

"How many other Everly's do you know?"

"Just checking. You know, that it's my cousin, Everly. My seventeen-year-old cousin. Whose father is the consort of France and knows how to shoot a gun," clarified Oliver.

To his surprise, Elijah laughed. "Yeah, if we're being honest, your aunt Camille scares me a little more than your uncle," he admitted, "But yes, that's the exact Everly that we're talking about. And might I remind you, you judgmental ass, that Rosalie and Adelaide are both seventeen too so it's not that weird."

"We're not talking about me," Oliver retorted. They settled into a charged silence as he digested the thought of his best friend and his cousin. "How long has this been going on?" he asked.

Elijah shrugged. "A while? More seriously since my birthday, but basically, the whole Selection."

"How the fuck didn't I notice?" Oliver demanded, more of himself than of Elijah.

"I'm just saying, it's a good thing you're going to have a council and advisers as king, because you're not always the most observational," Elijah pointed out.

Another silence settled over them as Oliver's mind worked overtime trying to figure out how he hadn't noticed. He realized there had been moments that he'd had sneaking suspicions, but he'd always written them off. "Do you care?" Elijah asked, breaking the silence. "Because… she's great. But you're my best friend."

"Uh…" Did he? "Not really," he determined, "But I know how you are with girls, and if she's just the fascination of the week, that's not really cool."

Elijah heaved a deep sigh. "Do you know what we're doing today? Going to see the fucking _Nutcracker_ because it's her favorite ballet." Oliver burst into laughter, and even Elijah cracked a smile at his predicament. "And you know what the worst part is? I'm actually excited, because I know how happy it's going to make her."

"Damn," noted Oliver, "You're in deep."

"So I've realized," agreed Elijah.

"Well, have fun at your ballet. I'll grant you diplomatic immunity if my aunt and uncle catch wind of it and decide to kill you." Elijah snorted his thanks and disappeared, leaving Oliver alone in his room. As he sat on the couch, his mind drifted back to Sara and Jonathan, and he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He typed a quick ' _how's it going?'_ to Jonathan and set his phone on the arm of his couch, face up as he waited for a response.

It took five minutes before the screen lit up with one brief message: _Go away_.

Oliver heaved a sigh. Two of his closest friends were out on dates (with his cousin and another close friend, of all people), the other was watching a disgusting documentary, and if he wanted any sort of progress to happen with the navy, he couldn't keep bothering Xander whenever he was bored. What was a poor prince to do? He supposed he could see what Tristan and Isolde were up to, but he guessed that they were probably wedding planning as usual and getting dragged into that sounded about as fun as stabbing himself in the eye. Finally, he decided to see if there was anything good to read in the library and heaved himself off the couch.

When he walked into the library though, he found Margaery sitting in one of the large armchairs by the fireplace and grinned. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of seeking out one of the Elite, but he was glad to have happened upon her.

She looked equally happy to see him. "Hi," she smiled, closing her book.

"Watcha doing?" Oliver asked as he nodded at the story in her hands.

"Reading," responded Margaery.

"Nothing better to do with your Thursday night?" teased Oliver.

She shuddered. "Alaric and Kaitlyn are watching a horrifying documentary in the Women's Room so I had to take cover here," she explained.

"Anything interesting?" questioned Oliver.

"It's actually a history book," Margaery laughed as she showed him the cover. "A bit dull, if I'm being honest, but I figured it might be a good idea to brush up in case anything comes up on _The Report_ or your mom asks."

There were so many instances where Oliver it struck Oliver what a good queen Margaery would make. Of course, the history that she was reading as highly edited, but it was still an example of her taking initiative that impressed him. "Well, don't let me distract you," he countered, "I'm just looking for… something."

"Need any suggestions?" Margaery asked with raised eyebrows.

"That's alright," shrugged Oliver. "I'll know it when I see it." He started to pace up and down the aisles of books, but he wasn't even sure that he was reading the titles on the spines. He kept thinking about Jonathan and Sara, wondering how their date was going. He checked his phone at least five times before he made it back towards the section of books closest to Margaery, which he'd already investigated.

"What's wrong?" Margaery laughed at his reappearance.

"Nothing's wrong," countered Oliver. "Why would you think that something's wrong?"

"Uh…" She raised her eyebrows at him as he continued to pace. "Lucky guess."

Oliver paused. "Sara and Jonathan went on a date, and I just want them to have a fun time today," he explained. "I care about them both a lot, and they deserve someone who makes them happy."

Margaery's eyes softened, and she smiled. "I know what you mean. Xander dated this girl named Thea Vernon once, and I might have made Genesis creep on their first date with me."

Oliver's initial reaction was to laugh, but as he considered Margaery's story, an excited smile slowly spread over his face. "That's a genius idea!" he declared.

Margaery looked surprised. "I didn't realize I was giving you an idea…"

"We can go on our own date," explained Oliver, "that just _happens_ to follow Jonathan and Sara's."

"I don't know if that's—"

"It's genius," Oliver assured her. "And I know _exactly_ where they're going, because Alaric and I helped Jonathan plan it. This is perfect." He tossed her history book aside and instructed her to get ready and meet him in the entrance hall in twenty minutes before he dashed off to change himself and find a driver.

When she reappeared twenty minutes later, her brown hair consolidated into a braid that hung over her shoulder and dressed in a rose-colored skirt and neutral turtleneck, Margaery still didn't look convinced. "I don't know about this," she admitted.

"They'll never even notice we're there," countered Oliver as he helped Margaery into her jacket.

"What makes you so sure?" she asked.

Oliver grinned triumphantly. "We're going incognito," he declared. He pulled a pair of stylish sunglasses from the pocket of his own jacket and then handed Margaery a pair that he'd taken from his mother for her. "Like I said, they'll never even notice."

She rolled her eyes affectionately but accepted the sunglasses and took his hand. "Alright," she relented, "Let's go."

"So, where is this covert operation taking us?" Margaery asked as their car started to travel down the road and away from the palace.

"There's this thing called 'Light up the Lake' that they do in town," explained Oliver. "It's a bunch of Christmas lights set to music, and they have a lot of Christmas-y things: fake Santa Claus, hot chocolate, make your own ornaments. That sort of thing."

Margaery's face lit up, and she shifted a little closer to Oliver. "That sounds really fun," she admitted, "Remind me to thank Jonathan for picking such a cool date."

He scoffed. "I will have you know that it was my suggestion," he declared, "So go ahead and direct any and all appreciation in my direction, thanks."

"I'll give you this: you are surprisingly more romantic than I originally thought you'd be," remarked Margaery.

"I think there was a compliment somewhere in that statement, so I'm just going to hold on to that," Oliver decided. Her statement reminded him of how he and Mae had talked about her expectations before they'd first met at his surprise party, and it also reminded him that he and Mae had yet to make up. But he pushed the thought from his head and tried to force himself to focus on his date with Margaery. Even if it had started because of his curiosity about how things were going for Jonathan and Sara, he still wanted to make sure that she had a good time.

The sun had already set by the time they arrived at the lake, and Christmas lights were covering every surface, creating a dazzling sea of color. There were lights in every shade, from soft twinkling light to rows of bright, eclectic multicolored strands. Some of them were set to flash or shimmer in time to the Christmas songs that were projecting from speakers, while others provided a constant glow. "It's incredible," she breathed as she turned in a circle to examine the lights.

As Oliver watched her blue eyes take in the scene with such wonder, he couldn't fight his smile. "Yes," he nodded in agreement, taking a step closer to her, "You are."

Margaery blushed and looked away, although Oliver saw the smile that his remark had brought to her face. "Where to first?" she asked. "Should we find Jonathan and Sara?"

"Ah, I've got that handled," Oliver declared. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and explained, "Jonathan made me download this app that sends him my location because I had a habit of Irish exiting in my party days. Little did he know that it shows me where he is too."

"Irish exiting?" Margaery repeated, her eyebrows furrowed at the unfamiliar phrase.

"Uh, yeah," chuckled Oliver as he clicked through his phone. "It's when you sort of just leave without telling anyone that you're leaving or where you're going."

"Why is it called…"

"Beats me," Oliver shrugged. "Okay, here we go. It looks like they're over making ornaments, so if we take a picture with Santa, we should be able to get close enough to scope it out but go undetected."

She nodded. "Good plan. Especially since our grand sunglasses disguises weren't the most well thought out."

When he'd grabbed the sunglasses, he'd forgotten that it was going to be nighttime outside. "Well, we could always get some hats," Oliver grinned as he gestured to a nearby cart. "You'd look pretty cute in an elf hat."

Margaery laughed as they approached the hats. "Alright," she agreed, "but only if you get the reindeer antlers."

"Done," declared Oliver. He paid for both, and they took turns adjusting their new accessories. "Yep, I was right," he nodded after Margaery had pulled her elf hat on.

"About what?"

"You are the cutest elf I've ever seen," he noted, pulling her close enough to kiss her forehead. Margaery smiled, wrapping her arms around him momentarily.

Ready for Christmas, though not anymore adequately disguised, the pair made their way to the queue to take a picture with Santa. They were one of the few people in line not accompanying a child, which Oliver didn't mind but Margaery seemed a little embarrassed by. "Embrace your inner kid!" he encouraged her.

"I didn't do things like this even when I was a kid," she countered with a laugh. "Christmas meant company parties and fancy dresses and bows so that you could look cuter than the other children. And doing nothing fun so that you didn't wreck your outfit."

Oliver snorted. "Even I had more fun Christmases than that and royals are notoriously boring."

"You? Notoriously boring?" She laughed in disbelief. "More like just notorious."

"I get you a nice elf hat and this is how you treat me," he mumbled, "I'm definitely telling Santa to put you on the naughty list."

"I'm sure you'll be right there with me," Margaery quipped playfully. Oliver pretended to be put out by her teasing, which worked quite well to his advantage as she hugged him as a form of apology. They stood in line with their arms around each other as the children around them excitedly buzzed about what they were going to ask Santa for.

They were nearly at the front of the line by the time Oliver remembered he was supposed to be looking for Jonathan and Sara. It was easy to scan the grounds without letting Margaery go, since he was half a foot taller than her, and he excitedly shook her when his eyes landed on them. "Look!"

Margaery turned towards the direction he'd pointed in. Jonathan and Sara were seated at a table under the ornament tent. It was obviously a children's table, in which Jonathan looked enormously oversized. But if he minded at all, Oliver couldn't tell. There were children hanging on to both him and Sara, as they appeared to be helping the youngsters with their ornaments, and Jonathan was smiling more brightly than Oliver had ever seen as Sara helped a little girl tie a ribbon onto her ornament. When she handed the ornament to its new owner and noticed Jonathan looking in her direction, Sara blushed somewhat, a shy smile on her face as well. Oliver watched as Jonathan reached for Sara's hand, at which point he turned back towards Margaery, feeling like he was a bit of an intruder.

"It looks like it's going very well," Margaery noted. There was a wistful smile on her face that made Oliver wrap his arms around her again.

"I'm glad," he sighed, "Sara and Jonathan deserve to be happy."

"I agree," she nodded, "Nikolai… I mean, obviously, I don't know what their relationship was like, but Sara's such a sweet person that I just don't get how they worked."

"The heart wants what it wants, I guess," shrugged Oliver. "Oh, score, it's our turn."

Santa Claus looked a little surprised when the crown prince and a member of the Elite approached him, though not quite as surprised when Oliver plopped himself down on the man's knee. "Ladies first," Oliver invited Margaery.

Her eyes sparkled. "For Christmas, I'd like a piece of jewelry," she declared teasingly. Santa chuckled his usual ho-ho-ho laugh and shot a knowing look at Oliver, who blushed.

"For Christmas, I want Pip to stop eating my shoes," Oliver blurted out. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to follow up Margaery's Christmas wish—and was positive that even if he granted said wish, it wouldn't be by a Christmas deadline—but the pair laughed at his strange request. Margaery knelt beside the chair instead of sitting on Santa's other knee, and they all smiled as an elf aimed a camera at them.

They lingered near the Santa station until their picture was printed. "I'm racking up quite a photo album of you, Miss Seymour," Oliver declared as he examined the picture. He looked ridiculous, an oversized kid in antlers sitting on Santa's knee, but Margaery was beautiful as always. It such a good picture of her that he wouldn't have relinquished it into her possession even if she'd asked for it.

"Where to next?" Margaery smiled, an arm around Oliver's waist and her head leaning on his shoulder as he stared down at the photo.

He looked around. "Damn, I lost Sara and Jonathan."

"Want to grab some hot chocolate and regroup?" she suggested.

"Good plan," nodded Oliver.

Once they'd collected their mugs of hot chocolate—peppermint flavored for Oliver, extra chocolate drizzle for Margaery—they took a seat at an empty table. Oliver pulled his phone out and looked for Jonathan's dot in the location app. "There," Margaery declared, tapping the screen with a perfectly manicured fingernail.

The pair were at the same cart that Margaery and Oliver had gotten their hats from. Oliver tried to duck down as he stared in their direction. "I wish we were close enough to hear," he complained.

Margaery laughed. "You have to let them have _some_ kind of privacy," she countered. "Besides, they look like they're doing fine."

It was true. Jonathan had placed a necklace of oversized Christmas lights that flashed different colors around Sara's neck, and she was helping him decide on a Santa hat. Finally, they picked one covered in red sequins. They looked more like an established couple rather than someone on their first date, and Oliver let out an audible gasp when Sara reached for Jonathan's hand this time.

Margaery sent him a quizzical look. "Guess I'm a romantic at heart?" shrugged Oliver.

"Are you satisfied?" she asked, clearly amused by his display.

"I suppose," he nodded. "But come on, we need to make ornaments before we call it a night. I refuse to let Jonathan be a better date than me." He pulled a giggling Margaery towards the ornament tent.

Christmas music drifted through the speakers in the tent as well, and as they took art supplies to the clear ornaments that they were given upon arrival, Oliver asked, "What's your favorite Christmas song?"

Margaery paused to think about it, her glittery ornament momentarily forgotten in her hand. "Sleigh Ride," she determined.

Oliver laughed. "The least emotional Christmas song you could pick, huh?"

"No," contested Margaery, "That would probably be Santa Baby. I love Sleigh Ride, because we don't get much snow in Fennley, but it sounds picturesque. And okay, Mr. Judgment, what's your favorite Christmas song?"

Christmas had always been one of Oliver's favorite times of year, so his answer was ready on the tip of his tongue. "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

"Someone gets in their feelings during Christmastime," teased Margaery.

Oliver laughed as he continued to try to paint a misshapen Christmas tree on his ornament. "Definitely," he nodded in confirmation, "I love the holidays. I'm excited to have you guys here with me this year."

She paused, and he wondered if she was thinking of the fact that there were still six other girls there as well. If she did, she didn't linger on that fact. "Me too."

When their ornaments were finished, Oliver had a sadly off-balanced Christmas tree, while Margaery's was a glittering scene of falling snowflakes and a perfect imitation of Frosty the snowman. "Why do you have to be good at everything?" he complained flippantly as they made their way from the tent.

Margaery smiled smugly. "It's a gift."

Oliver wasn't the only one impressed by Margaery's ornament though, as a little girl approached them. "Your ornament is very pretty," the girl smiled.

Margaery bent down so that she was level with the child. "Thank you," she replied warmly. "Have you gotten to make one yet?"

The little girl shook her head. "Mommy says we don't have time, but I just wanted to tell you how much I liked yours," she explained.

Without even an ounce of hesitation, Margaery swiftly handed the beautiful ornament over. "Well, that was really nice of you to come tell me. You know, I would love for this ornament to belong to someone as sweet as you," she explained.

The little girl's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Her mother approached and looked hesitant, obviously aware of who Oliver and Margaery were. "Oh, my lady, you don't have to do that—"

But Margaery waved her off. "I insist," she countered. She smiled down at the little girl once more. "Merry Christmas."

When they were alone, Oliver reached out to grab Margaery's arm and spin her towards him. "You amaze me," he told her, "Every time I find something new out about you or see a new side of you, I am constantly amazed."

"Hope I don't ever let you down," Margaery murmured. She looked a little nervous.

"You couldn't," countered Oliver. He lowered his cold face towards her, reveling in the feel of her warm lips upon his. They were both bundled in coats and gloves against the bitter chill of night, but they pressed together, her arms around his neck while his encircled her waist. It was a soft, slow kiss, his only intention to show her the feelings that he couldn't express.

He liked her. He really did. But realizing how much he liked the girls was simply adding to his growing problems.

When they parted, Oliver noticed that her lips were chattering a little. It was an unseasonably cool night in Angeles, and neither had dressed for extreme temperatures. "We should get back to the palace," he decided.

"I wish we could stay here forever," sighed Margaery. She leaned forward to give him one more brief kiss. "Best night ever." He smiled down at her, and the pair linked arms to return to the car.

When they got back to the palace, Oliver found that Jonathan had already returned to his room, along with Alaric and Elijah. "Hey," he greeted them as he pulled his coat and gloves off, tossing them aside. "How was everyone's night?"

"Ballets are boring," declared Elijah, although he was smiling and glancing at his phone frequently, like he was awaiting a text from Everly.

"Medieval medicine is as terrible as it sounds," shuddered Alaric. "I think I'm traumatized, and that's saying something, because I grew up with Marid." Oliver and Elijah snorted in amusement.

"Well, Jonathan?" Oliver prompted. When his guard didn't respond, he added more forcefully, "Earth to Jonathan."

Jonathan reluctantly abandoned his thoughts and turned to the group. "Uh…" Oliver held his breath. Everything that he'd seen had made it look like Sara and Jonathan were having a great time. But what if they hadn't?

"Best date I've ever been on," Jonathan declared, complete with a goofy smile. Alaric and Elijah cheered, while the tense set of Oliver's shoulder's relaxed. They immediately began bombarding him with questions—"did you kiss her?" (Elijah); "do you think you'll go out again?" (Alaric)—and any nerves that Jonathan had earlier about his burgeoning relationship with Sara seemed to have disappeared.

With Jonathan on cloud nine, Oliver decided to pop in to Sara's room to get her take on the date. Based on what he'd seen, he had a feeling that she was going to report back positively, but he was nervous for his body guard all the same. With Sara's complicated history with Nikolai, Oliver wasn't sure if she was ready to move into a new relationship.

Her maid answered the door, and Oliver found her sitting at her desk, staring out the window absentmindedly. She was still dressed in the jeans and sweater she'd worn on the date, complete with the Christmas light necklace that Jonathan had given her. "Hey," Oliver greeted her softly.

Even though he tried not to startle her, she jumped anyway, like she'd been pulled out of deep thought. "Hi."

"Sooo," Oliver perched on the edge of her desk, and Sara smiled like she already knew what he was about to ask, "how'd it go?"

"Don't you already know?" she asked teasingly, "Since you were practically following us for half the night." Oliver quickly tried to look surprised and insulted by her accusation, but she added, "Oliver, if you're trying to be discreet, you should probably not wear reindeer antlers that light up."

He felt the embarrassment cover his cheeks. "Uh… yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you guys had a good time."

Sara's green eyes held a faraway look, as though she were recalling something from a long time ago. "The first date I ever went on with Nikolai, he took me to the Russian ballet," she explained. "It was a piece that was written about the triumphs of one of his ancestors during the last world war. They hailed the tsar and his family before and after the show, and we stood for a whole hour afterwards as everyone greeted them."

"It was clear that he wanted to impress me," she added with a sad smile, "and it did, in a way. Nikolai is a powerful man. I've always known that."

Oliver frowned. Jonathan might've been physically powerful, but that was where the extent of his prowess stopped. If that's what Sara had liked about Nikolai, Oliver's friend was in trouble. "But…?" he prompted.

"Jonathan didn't try to impress me tonight. He didn't show off or anything like that." She met Oliver's gaze. "He just tried to make me happy."

"And how'd he do?" Oliver pressed anxiously.

"Better than I ever imagined possible." Her face broke into an elated smile, and surprisingly, there were tears in her eyes. "After… everything…" She paused. There was a lot encompassed in that everything—a marriage, a child, a bevy of broken promises from a man she had loved and trusted. "I didn't know that I could feel this happy."

There was another short pause and a brief flash of pain before she declared, "This is how love is supposed to feel."

Although he had little personal investment in the pair other than wanting to see two friends happy, Oliver's stomach did an excited flip flop. "That's awesome," he grinned. "You know… you could stay, Sar. If you wanted."

He expected her to look surprised at the suggestion—it had, after all, just been a first date—but her reaction made Oliver realize that she'd already considered it many times before. "Yeah," she nodded, smiling to herself, "I could."

"Well, great, since everyone's partnering up, maybe you guys will be able to focus on the important things we have going on right now," complained Oliver in a joking manner, "Like me."

Sara laughed. "Oh, Oliver," she sighed, "I hope one of your girls makes you this happy. And if she does, don't let her go."

Discomfort flooded the prince. "Yeah," he swallowed, forcing a smile. "Uh—I'm gonna go get something from the kitchen. Wanna come?"

Sara declined, as she and Jonathan had gotten dinner before they went to Light up the Lake, so Oliver left her room alone. Truthfully, he wasn't hungry, but needed something to take his mind off the worry that Sara had inadvertently caused him to begin fixating on again.

It wasn't like he didn't want to find the One. He did, desperately. But it was hard to separate his feelings for the girls. He was constantly with them, seeing them, trying to divide his time among them. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if what he was feeling for the girls was situational or an overlying indication of how he truly felt.

His mindless meandering led him to the entrance hall, which he was surprised to find occupied. "Hey," he frowned at Tristan and Isolde. "Where are you guys going?" They were both dressed in coats, mittens, and hats with boots on their feet. It was cold in Angeles, but nowhere near the requirement for their dress.

"We're taking off for two weeks," explained Tristan.

"But the holidays are coming up," frowned Oliver.

"We'll be back on Christmas eve," Isolde assured him. "With the Selection going on, there's some holiday engagements that you weren't going to be able to fulfill, so Tristan and I offered to."

"We're off to Baffin," Tristan explained, shuddering. "Apparently, there's four feet of snow there."

"Well, say hi to Pres for me if you see her," Oliver instructed.

"We will," Isolde assured him. She pulled him in for a brief hug. "Behave while we're gone."

"Yes, Mom," he chuckled before he released her and gave Tristan a one-armed hug. Although he'd never been anxious about the copious amounts of traveling that his family was required to do before, there was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that caused him to add, "Be safe."

Tristan looked perplexed by the concern, but he didn't linger on it. "Of course," he shrugged. "Give us a call if you need anything."

"See you Christmas eve!" Isolde beamed as she took her fiancé's arm. They gave him a brief wave before they disappeared into the dark Angeles night.

Oliver stood at a window in the entrance hall, watching their car recede into the night. He tried to shake the feeling of gloom that had overcome him—writing it off as lingering confusion over the Selection—but it was hard to ignore.

He had a feeling that things were only about to get more difficult, both in the Selection and his life in general.


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note** : Day 3! Thank you a ton to everyone who's reviewed every chapter since my daily updates started, it's made this process so much easier for me (which is saying something since I didn't prewrite any of these because I like to torture myself apparently). On to the next!

* * *

With Christmas a little under two weeks away, Oliver was having no trouble getting into the holiday spirit. It wasn't hard, since the palace was always transformed the first week of December. There was a towering tree in the entrance hall, dining room, Women's Room, and all the living rooms and libraries. The outside of the palace glittered with hundreds of white Christmas lights, while the interior was decked with poinsettias, holly, and mistletoe. All the usual curtains, tablecloths, and rugs had been traded in for substitutes in Eadlyn's favorite Christmas color combination of emerald and gold.

He'd always thought there were few things more impressive than the palace at Christmastime, and the Elite seemed to agree with him. On more than one occasion, he noticed Patricia racing back to her room for her camera to take a picture of some new decoration or Gabi sitting in some nook trying to capture an enormous Christmas tree just right with her drawing tools.

Since they had extra guests this year, Oliver decided to make it the best Christmas ever, and he was starting his gifting early with a trip to the Women's Room in search of Rosalie.

He asked her to meet him outside, because he didn't want to make the other girls feel bad. She looked a mixture of excited and nervous as she stepped into the hall with him, which he supposed was justified since he had sent two girls home in the last two weeks. "Hey," he grinned, "I have something for you."

"For me?" She looked surprised but pleased as she accepted the envelope that he held out to her. She eased it open and pulled the two thin rectangles of paper from inside. " _A Christmas Carol?_ Oh, my gosh!"

Her excitement was contagious, and Oliver nodded eagerly. "The Royal Theater Company always do a Christmas themed show around the holidays, and they're putting it on next week, so I was hoping you'd go with me," he explained.

"I would love to," beamed Rosalie. Her fingers traced the embossed words on the ticket, like she was checking to make sure that they were real.

Oliver chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Well, then, it's a date," he declared with a wink.

"I can't wait," Rosalie declared as she hugged Oliver in thanks. When he released her, she hesitated before she added, "Would you want to come hang out? Most of the girls are here, and we're watching a Christmas movie."

"Which one?" asked Oliver. He loved Christmas movies.

"Elf. Adelaide made the mistake of saying she'd never seen it, so Kaitlyn basically dragged us down here," she explained with a chuckle.

Oliver sighed. "I would love to," he admitted, "But I have a lot of work to do today." The onset of Christmas meant they'd be having visitors once more, and Eadlyn had charged him with handling their arrangements, so he had a busy day ahead of him.

While she looked disappointed, she gave an understanding nod. "Thanks again. I can't wait for the show," she added before she disappeared back into the Women's Room, and Oliver started to make his way back to his study.

He hadn't gotten too far when he noticed a lone figure slumped on the seat of one of the large bay windows in the hall. Mae's legs were pulled into her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She looked small and sad, a realization that made Oliver stop walking. She hadn't noticed him, which meant there was still time to escape, but as much as he wanted to avoid her anger—they still hadn't talked about their disagreement at his speakeasy party—he hated seeing her upset.

"Hey." _Two points for eloquence, Oliver,_ he chided himself.

Mae glanced over her shoulder at him and gave a weak smile. "Hi." She turned back towards the window.

"Uh…" Oliver sighed and dropped onto the seat beside her. "How are you?"

Her answer was brief, confirming Oliver's sneaking suspicion that she was definitely upset: "Fine."

He sighed and tried again. "Look, I'm really sorry about what happened at my party," he admitted, "It probably wasn't my best move. Sometimes, though, I just get caught up. It's hard to remember that there are other people sometimes, because when I'm with you, I just feel like we're the only ones—"

Mae cut him off. "Look, Oliver, that's really nice of you to apologize and everything, but it's not that," she countered. "I'm fine."

He was silent for a moment as he studied her. If she wasn't upset about Saturday, it meant that something else was bothering her, because she certainly did not look fine. "You don't look very convincing," Oliver pointed out.

Mae turned her sad eyes on him. "I don't really want to talk about it."

The look on her face immediately made Oliver forget the excitement that he'd harbored after giving Rosalie her tickets or the dread of all the work awaiting him. Her sadness was like a knife to the gut, something that he couldn't just walk away from or ignore. "Mae…" he reached out and put a hand on her leg, "talk to me."

After a long moment of silence, she heaved a sigh. "It's my birthday."

Not what Oliver had been expecting. "Oh!" he grinned, relieved. The relief only lasted for a moment though before he kicked himself for not having written all the girls' birthdays down on a calendar or something. He'd incorrectly assumed they would have brought it up at some point. "Well, happy birthday?"

Her smile was pained and didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks." Without saying anything else, she turned away from him again.

"Woah," remarked Oliver, "I don't think anyone is supposed to be this down in the dumps on their birthday. You're defying some sacred birthday rules here."

Another hollow smile was her only response. Oliver's attempt at cheerfulness faded somewhat. "Have you told anyone it's your birthday?" he asked, thinking of the other girls. At this point, they seemed to be a close-knit group in general, but Kaitlyn and Mae had an extremely close friendship. If the bubbly brunette had known it was her friend's birthday, there was no way Mae would be alone right now.

"No," admitted Mae, "Birthdays… well, mine at least, aren't really my favorite."

"Why not?" Oliver frowned. Even if his birthday turned into a bit of a circus every year, there were always still parts about it that he liked.

Mae shrugged, her face crumpled into a frown. "It's just sort of a reminder that… well, that I don't really have anyone," she muttered, "I've been alone for them for the last couple of years."

His first instinct was to pull her into her chest and hug her to shield her from the world that had been so unfair and cruel. But Oliver had always been better at problem solving than offering comfort, so he stood and held a hand out to her. "Come on."

"What?" Confusion creased her tan face.

"You're not alone this year," he pointed out, "So I'm going to give you the best birthday ever."

Instead of the instant excitement that he was hoping for, her face remained downcast. "That's sweet, but I kind of just want to be alone."

For a minute, he had a brief internal battle about whether he should heed her request or if it as a trick, one of those things where girls said something but meant the opposite. Mae didn't seem like the type to employ games like that, but regardless of what she really wanted, there was no part of him that would be able to walk away and leave her to feel so sad and alone on her birthday. He knelt beside her and took her hands. "Mae, please," he began, employing the puppy dog eyes that had gotten him out of trouble often. "Please let me spend your birthday with you."

It took her a minute to agree, but finally, she took the hand that he offered her. "Okay," she relented, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.

Triumph felt good, but Oliver pushed it aside. "Go get ready, and I'll pick you up in an hour," he decided. He had a lot to plan in a small amount of time, so as soon as Mae had turned the corner, he dashed towards the depths of the palace at a run.

The palace had their own jeweler, of course, whose primary job was to take care of the pieces that had been passed down over generations. He watched after all of the crowns, tiaras, and necklaces that had belonged to rulers that had died long before Oliver had even been a thought in his mother's head, before Illéa had even been conspired for.

But a creator at heart, he occasionally made his own pieces to add to the queen's collection, if she deemed them worthy, of course, and one of these was what Oliver was currently in pursuit of. "Hans," he gasped, trying to catch his breath after taking three flights of stairs at a run, "Help."

Hans set the tiara that he'd been polishing down and rose to bow to the prince. "Are you alright, Your Highness?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the breathless Oliver.

Oliver ignored the question and explained, "Birthday present. Need it now. Something Mom won't notice is gone."

Hans sprang into action. It wasn't often that Eadlyn strayed from her usual jewels, preferring tradition over to new additions, which meant that not much of Hans' work saw the light of day. He presented Oliver with three necklaces, strands of glittering gemstones lying in wait in velvet cases and far too beautiful to sit unadmired in the royal vault.

They all looked equally beautiful to him, so although Oliver would admit it to no one, he eventually picked with the extremely logical method of "eenie, meenie, minie, moe." Gift determined, he grabbed the box and called, "Thanks, Hans!" as he raced back up the stairs to the royal family's floor.

His next stop was in Sara's room. He threw the door open after the briefest knock, starling Sara and Jonathan, who were watching a movie on her couch. "You know, knocking is only effective if you wait until someone lets you in afterwards," Jonathan grouched at him.

Oliver waved him off. "I need you to call the winter chateau and tell them we're coming," he explained.

"Okay. When?"

"Today. Like in an hour?"

Jonathan's eyes bulged, and Oliver quickly explained, "It's Mae's birthday, and she basically hates her birthday because she hasn't had anyone to celebrate with, so I'm trying to throw together 'best birthday ever' level shit in less than an hour."

If Jonathan was fed up with Oliver at all, he decided not to voice it after Sara declared, "How sweet!"

"So, you guys will help me?" Oliver asked, his face lighting up.

"Of course!" Sara insisted before Jonathan even had a chance to respond. "Go get ready. Jonathan will get the preparations for the chateau ready, and I'll pack for you two."

Oliver exhaled in relief. "You're a god send, Sara," he announced, pulling her in for a brief hug. "She's a keeper, Jonathan," he added before he dashed to his own room.

Even with all of Sara and Jonathan's help, Oliver was almost late meeting Mae in the hallway. She was dressed in a dark sweater dress, a warm coat pulled over her shoulders, and a pair of over the knee boots covering her legs. She was standing with Sara and Jonathan, who would be accompanying them on the trip, although Sara insisted Oliver wouldn't even notice they were there. The chateau was understaffed because of the lack of notice that Oliver had provided, so Sara had offered to make them dinner, because apparently to round out her perfect personality, she also cooked well.

As the four of them loaded into the car—Sara also knew how to drive and rolled her eyes when Oliver and Jonathan both admitted they couldn't—Oliver was a bundle of excitement, while Mae still seemed slightly downcast. "Jonathan, we have a serious case back here," Oliver declared. "This calls for Christmas music." Jonathan complied with Oliver's request, and around the third song that Oliver belted in a loud, offkey voice, Mae finally cracked a smile.

The winter chateau was one of the royal family's smaller residences, hidden away in the mountains on the border of Angeles and Fennley in a popular winter town that the wealthy and powerful liked to frequent. Their yearly visits to the chateau were the only time Oliver had ever experienced snow as a child, and it held a special place in his heart, a magical place where only good things happened.

It took them around two hours to get there, as Sara had to drive a little more carefully when they realized that it had begun to snow in the mountains. There was already a foot or two covering the ground, but the snow fell in sheets, quickly adding to the accumulation. Mae showed her first genuine look of excitement when she realized they were going somewhere snowy, as it probably reminded her of wintery Yukon.

The small staff that maintained the chateau year-round had managed to prepare for their arrival well. The exterior of the chateau was cloaked in Christmas lights, and there was an enormous fire already roaring in the entrance hall of the residence when they stepped inside. A butler greeted them to take their things to their rooms, but instead of following, he turned to Mae. "How do you feel about ice skating?"

Another genuine look of excitement. "Very positive," she assured him.

He opened the closet that he remembered used to house their ice skates and was relieved to find them still sitting in a pile at the bottom. "My mom loves ice skating," he explained, "There's a pond in the back that she has specially treated so that you can skate on it. Wanna check it out?" Mae eagerly agreed. He handed her a pair of Eadlyn's old skates and grabbed his father's, since his hadn't been used since he was seven and thus were far too small.

"It's so beautiful here," Mae beamed as she took a seat on a bench near the pond and started pulling her skates on. "It reminds me of Yukon."

"I thought it would," admitted Oliver. He pulled his skates on as well. Part of him was a little nervous, since he hadn't skated in a long time, but he told himself it couldn't be that bad and took a step towards the ice.

One time, he'd watched a nature documentary about baby giraffes learning how to walk. Their long spindly legs had been completely unprepared and gone splaying in a million different directions. Oliver felt exactly like the baby giraffe as soon as he was on the ice. He didn't fall completely on his ass, but his arms desperately tried to steady him as he rocked forwards and backwards on the skates, searching for balance.

Mae laughed and gracefully skated onto the ice. "I guess the better question was how do _you_ feel about ice skating." She skated in a perfectly round circle around him. In contrast to his shaky unfamiliarity with the skates, she was a natural, like the skates were simply an extension of her legs.

"Uh… shockingly unsure," he admitted, "I didn't remember it being this hard as a kid."

Looking amused, she held a hand out to him. "Here."

He shook his head. "Then we're both just going to fall," he pointed out.

"Well, then we'll fall together," challenged Mae, "Now, give me your hand."

He accepted her help, and with Mae's expertise, he didn't feel quite as unsteady. His ankles still shook in the skates, and he felt like he was constantly seconds away from falling, but death didn't seem imminent anymore. "See, you're getting the hang of it," she cheered once they'd successfully taken a loop of the pond together.

But as soon as he got bold and tried to skate away on his own, he always fell right onto the ice. He didn't mind, as it meant that he got to stay close to Mae, but he felt bad that she had to babysit him even though she insisted that she didn't mind a million times. They skated until the tip of her nose and tops of her cheeks were pink from the cold and Oliver's legs didn't think they could handle wobbling around the pond again.

Oliver slumped into the snow. "I might be terrible at ice skating," he conceded.

"Not terrible," countered Mae with a giggle as she dropped into the space beside him. "I mean, I'm not recommending you put it on your resume or anything, but there was definite improvement from when we started."

"Yeah, I managed to fall only once every ten minutes instead of every five," chortled Oliver.

"See, improvement," beamed Mae. She glanced around before she decided, "Okay, this is a winter activity that everyone's good at. Truly, if you mess this up, I'll be amazed." She fell back into the fluffy white snow and ordered him to do the same.

The snow was freezing, but soft and conformed to his body. "So, now, you just move your arms and legs like this," explained Mae. She moved her arms up and down while her legs traveled side to side. Oliver followed her motions, feeling a little ridiculous.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"How have you never made snow angels?" demanded Mae.

"I had a sheltered childhood," Oliver answered. He stopped moving his arms and legs and glanced around. "What now?"

She stood up, carefully picking her way through the snow to avoid messing up her angel. She held her hands out to Oliver and pulled him to his feet as well. "Oh," he smiled as he inspected their creations, "They do sort of look like angels."

He'd been about to remark how much cuter her snow angel was—even though they were pretty similarly shaped blobs in the snow—when the attack started.

Oliver jumped as the cold snow fell from the back of his head, sliding down the neck of his jacket. "Argh!" he yelled, dropping to the ground to avoid further ambush.

Mae's eyebrows were knit in confusion as she fell to her knees beside him. "What happened?" she asked, a little frantic, "Are you ok—Ah!" Another well aimed snowball hit her cheek. Oliver shifted in front of her, tensing as another snowball landed on his back.

"Help me!" he ordered, grabbing a pile of snow into his hands and trying to shape it into a ball. Once he'd managed a weapon that seemed passable, he briefly turned around and launched it in the direction that the attack was coming from. Mae followed suit. He wasn't sure if they hit their attackers, but it gave him enough time to grab her hand and pull her towards a bush. They fell to the ground behind it. Oliver hedged above the bush to figure out who it was (and earn another snowball in the face).

"It's Jonathan and Sara!" he gasped as he sank back to the ground. "Those traitors!"

While Oliver had been concerned figuring out who had launched the attack, Mae was focused on forming their counteroffensive. Despite the fact that her hands were much smaller than Oliver's, she was swift at forming small, compact snowballs that he could launch across the yard at Sara and Jonathan with surprising ease.

"How do you like me now?" he yelled as he landed a snowball on Jonathan's perfectly round head.

"You're going down, prince-y!" Sara yelled back.

"Not fair when you have the Hulk on your team!" complained Oliver as he narrowly avoided a whizzing snowball.

Sara started to yell something back, but Mae swooped a snowball and sent it careening into the Russian countess's face. They all paused for a moment and turned to Mae, awed by her aim. "What do you call her?" chuckled Sara as she brushed the snow out of her hair.

"Hawkeye, apparently," Oliver grinned. He handed Mae another snowball.

Eventually, the foursome, all pink cheeked and bedraggled from the cold and snow, decided to call a cease fire. "We just came out here to tell you that dinner would be done in an hour," Sara concluded as brushed snow from her jacket.

"So what was with the sneak attack?" demanded Oliver.

Jonathan shrugged as Sara took his hand, and they headed back towards the chateau. "It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I don't get to kick your butt often."

"You did _not_ kick our butts!" Oliver called after their retreating figures. "They didn't," he added to Mae, needing someone to acknowledge that fact that they hadn't lost the snowball battle.

"Of course not," Mae nodded in mock seriousness.

Oliver collapsed into the snow beside her, exhausted after their fierce war. "Tired?" she asked with a laugh.

"Yes," confirmed Oliver. He pulled her down into the snow with him. She landed mostly on his chest, staring down at him as he laid in the cold snow. "You're a pretty good battle partner," he complimented.

"Thanks," she beamed. "I think we made a pretty good team."

"An awesome team," agreed Oliver.

The intoxicating pull that he always felt whenever he was in close quarters with her sprang to life, and Oliver swallowed deeply as he stared up at her. There were flakes of snow sticking to the tips of her eyelashes, and when he reached out to cup her cheek, it was frozen from their prolonged time in the elements. Between the cold and the weight of her on his chest, it was a little difficult to take a deep breath, but Oliver did the best he could and gently pressed his lips to hers.

It was a soft kiss, a tentative expression of how much he'd enjoyed their day. He smiled at her when he pulled away, but Mae didn't seem satisfied, because she pressed her lips back to his. They were cold, just like her cheeks, but the moment that she deepened the kiss, Oliver felt like he'd been lit on fire, and was sure that when they stood, the snow he'd been laying in would be melted.

Cold, stiff hands fought against jackets, although Mae gasped in shock when one of his hands did manage to find its way to the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of her dress and the top of her boot. He'd mumble an apology later, but he pressed forward, his newly unnumbed lips moving against hers. Mae's hands tangled in his wet, snow ridden hair, causing droplets of melting snowflakes to drip down his face.

The cold that made it difficult to inhale too deeply also made it difficult to sustain the kiss on such little oxygen, and they parted before either of them really wanted to. Once they were separated, Oliver realized just how cold he was and shivered. "We should go inside," Mae noted.

"Definitely," agreed Oliver, "Dinner should be done soon anyway." They dumped their skates and drenched outwear in the downstairs closet of the chateau before they headed off to their rooms to warm up and get ready for the latter part of their evening.

It took him a while to defrost in the hot shower, but Sara and Jonathan offered to take care of dinner so he had time to get ready. Oliver threw on a new suit, this time navy with a festive red tie, and spent far longer on his hair than he would ever admit to before he deemed himself ready. Tucking the rectangle box of diamonds under his arm, he took a deep breath and walked across the hall to Mae's room.

She answered after the first knock, and the moment she smiled at him, Oliver was fairly certain that his heart stopped. Even without any maids to get her ready, she looked beautiful in the dress that Sara had brought for her. It was a strapless, floor length, and red, perfectly matching the tie that Oliver had accessorized with, hugging her body tightly until it flowed out at her knees.

He felt like he needed to say more, because there was no way that the simple sentence that he came up with summed up everything he was thinking, but it was all he could muster. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you," Mae smiled. Her eyes swept over his suit, and her smile grew a little warmer when she noticed that his tie matched her dress. "I like your tie."

The mention of his own outfit reminded him of the necklace in his hand, and he held it out to her. "Happy birthday."

Since he'd only found out about her birthday hours ago, she looked fittingly shocked. "How'd you…?"

He shrugged. "I have connections."

She excitedly opened the box, and her eyes widened at the five strands of diamonds sparkling up at her. "Oh, my god, Oliver."

The strapless neckline of her dress created the perfect canvas for the necklace, and he excitedly offered to help her put it on. They stepped into her room to line up in front of a mirror, and Mae studied him as he fiddled with the clasp. She let out a long exhale once the necklace had been fastened. "Oliver, it's beautiful, but it's too much," she began.

"No, it's definitely not," he countered. "You deserve a lot more."

Her fingers gently danced over the ornate diamonds. "You don't have to give me fancy things," she pointed out.

"I wanted to," was his retort. He stepped closer to her and placed a kiss on her shoulder. "Happy birthday," he added softly.

She studied his face through the mirror for a moment before she smiled, "Thank you."

Suddenly, a wave of heat rushed over Oliver, and he became of a few things—namely, exactly how well her dress hugged her curves and just how little space there was between their bodies—that made him take a step back. He cleared his throat and swallowed deeply. "Uh, we should go to dinner."

If Mae noticed his strange change in demeanor, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she nodded and took his arm, allowing him to lead her to the dining room.

If the dinner was supposed to be Sara's 'thank you' for the assistance that Oliver had given Jonathan for their date, he must've underestimated just how appreciative she was. While there was no sign of Jonathan or Sara, the dinner that they'd worked on was already laid out and looked delicious. The dining room had also been given extra attention, with a warm fire roaring in the fireplace, the curtains on the large windows pulled back to provide a view of the stars that seemed to sparkle more brightly than at the palace in Angeles, and music coming from an undisclosed source.

Oliver pulled Mae's chair out for her before taking a seat across from her. "Who knew Sara could cook?" he chuckled as he looked at all the food before them.

"She's a keeper," Mae declared as she tucked into the soup.

"You know I'd never cooked anything for myself before the Selection?" Oliver remarked as he started on his soup as well. It tasted as good as he'd suspected it would.

Mae smirked. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Your father would have been scandalized by me," he admitted, remembering that Mae's father had been a chef.

The smirk on her face took on a more genuine tone. "I think you would've redeemed yourself adequately in other ways," she countered.

"Good."

Somehow—they both suspected involvement from Isolde in some way—Sara had known that Mae loved coq au vin, which served as their main course. She'd even picked the best wine to compliment the meal, and by the time they'd gotten halfway through the entrée, Mae and Oliver were in agreement that they needed to do something for Sara in thanks. "It was all a ploy to get us in her debt," Mae determined jokingly.

"We could do something simple like an edible arrangement," Oliver suggested, causing her to choke on her wine. "What?" he demanded. "Everyone loves edible arrangements."

"Do they?" she asked skeptically. Oliver didn't get a chance to respond though, because the song that was playing piqued her interest. "Oh! I love this song."

He turned his attention to the music. It had taken him a moment longer to notice because it was an instrumental version, but he realized that it was Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. A slow smile spread over his face. "This is my favorite Christmas song," he admitted.

"Really?" laughed Mae. "Mine too."

"Crazy," he commented. He was about to return to his chicken when the scrape of Mae's chair against the floor caught his attention. "What are you doing?"

"Dance with me," she requested, holding her hand out to him.

It was silly and a little cheesy, but once she'd put the idea into his head, he realized there was nothing he'd rather do more. They stepped away from the table, closer towards the window and the view of the night sky that it afforded, and Oliver nervously put a tentative hand on her waist as he remembered the fire that their close proximity had lit earlier in her room.

Mae shot him a quizzical look at his hesitation and closed the space between them. He ordered his body to calm down. "You know," Oliver noted, thinking back to their first date in Paloma, "Now you know two of my favorite places in the world. Makes you one of the few people who do."

"This has been a great day," Mae beamed. "I love it here."

The response on the tip of his tongue was that they would have to come back if she liked it so much, but he reminded himself of how she'd gotten angry when he'd brought up the tattoos at his birthday party, so he swallowed it down. "Not a bad birthday then?"

"It couldn't have been," she determined. "Thank you."

He shrugged off her thanks. The truth of the matter was that he'd give her, and all the other Elite, really, the world if he could. He cared about them all so deeply that he'd do whatever he could to make them happy.

It just really sucked that he had the power to make them so sad as well.

The thought of the other Elite reminded him of the fact that he was trying to find a wife amongst the seven girls. By this point, he thought he knew them pretty well, but it was time to figure out whose future plans aligned with his. And that was why, somewhat bluntly, he blurted, "Do you want kids?"

Mae's eyes widened in response. "Uh, not tonight!"

It was the perfect answer to an awkward, out-of-the-blue question, and Oliver laughed, immediately easing any tension. "What kind of man do you think I am?" he teased her. "I meant… in general. In the future."

"Oh." Mae laughed at her response as well. "Well, yeah," she shrugged, "I think that's sort of a prerequisite for entering the Selection. It's sort of an understanding the queen is going to have kids."

He was relieved that the immediate answer was yes, but it wasn't enough. "But if you weren't going to be queen, would you want them anyway?" he pressed.

Mae considered the question for only a minute longer before she nodded. "Yeah. I'd like to have a family again. What about you? You know, if you weren't going to be king and therefore duty-bound."

He nodded as well. "I like children," he explained, "I always wanted two. A girl and a boy."

She smiled. "I think you'd make a good dad," she commented. "We were all dying a little when we saw you with Amelie at the masquerade party."

"Thanks," he grinned. "I don't think my dad and I are quite as close as my mom and I are, but he's been an awesome example."

"Kile is pretty special," Mae agreed.

There was admittedly a scale of the level of depth that the things he felt for the remaining Elite fell on, and while he'd known that Mae was on the deeper side of that scale, he was proud of himself for taking what felt like a more concrete step forward in their relationship. While he wouldn't have called himself dutiful prior to the start of the Selection, he had no illusions about what picking a wife would entail. He could be head over heels in love, but if he realized that her desires and aspirations didn't align with what her life as queen would be, there was no way he could choose her.

But for the moment, they were fine. Oliver didn't want to delve too much further into the tough questions, so as soon as the song ended, he wondered, "Do you think Sara made dessert?"

They returned towards the table, but amongst all their options, there didn't seem to be any dessert. Oliver was a little disappointed until he noticed a small notecard sitting under his place. _Kitchen_. "Uh, I'll be right back," he decided.

Since the chateau was much smaller than the palace, the kitchen was right off the side of the dining room, instead of in the depths like his home in Angeles. Sitting under a dessert case on the counter was a cake decorated with white and gold frosting, along with twenty gold candles and a lighter. Oliver decided that he was going to get Sara an extra-large edible arrangement and hurriedly set about lighting the surprise before Mae wandered in in search of him.

When the little cake was ablaze, he carefully carried it back into the dining room, pausing at the door to hit the lights, sending the room into darkness aside from the light from the fireplace. Mae glanced around in surprise, and when she saw him in the doorway, he launched into a verse of 'Happy Birthday.' He set the cake before her, and once his terrible singing concluded, ordered, "Make a wish!"

She closed her eyes tightly and blew out all the candles with a single breath. He couldn't be sure, but when she opened her eyes, they looked a little watery, prompting him to wonder what she'd wished for. "I can't tell you," demurred Mae when he asked, "because then it won't come true. And this is definitely one wish I want to come true."

"Alright, alright," he sighed.

After the cake, the pair made their way back upstairs. The snow was still falling in heavy sheets, so they'd elected to remain at the chateau until the roads were cleared the following morning, but Oliver wasn't quite ready to call it a night. They hesitated near their separate rooms before Oliver finally asked, "Do you want to come in?" To his relief, she nodded.

His room at the chateau had always been the epitome of cozy, with faux fur pillows and blankets, exposed beam ceilings, and a general ski lodge look that he found endearing during winter. He kicked off his shoes, and Mae delicately removed her new necklace before the pair fell onto his bed. The mountains of pillows propped him up, and he had an arm wrapped around Mae, her head rested on his shoulder.

He hadn't realized how tired he was until that moment. He had a ton of work awaiting him when they returned to Angeles the next day, but he wasn't quite willing to let himself fall asleep yet. He wanted to hang on to the day's magic for a little bit longer. "Can I ask you something?"

She turned onto her side so that she could see his face more clearly. "Of course."

"What's been your favorite day of the Selection?" he asked.

There was a pause as she considered the question. She looked a little embarrassed when she finally answered, "I think my favorite day will be when it ends."

Oliver's face crumpled. He'd hoped that even throughout the occasionally uncomfortable circumstances the girls would be able to enjoy the experience even in some small degree. Mae seemed to notice this, and she put a hand on his cheek to direct his attention to her. "I don't want you to misunderstand," she countered, "We've had amazing times, and I love getting to hang out with Kaitlyn or Isolde. But the longer the Selection goes on, the stronger my feelings get. Dragging this out and trying to enjoy little moments here or there won't make it easier in the end, especially if…"

She didn't finish her sentence, but Oliver knew what came next: if he didn't pick her. "I know," he sighed. He fell back onto his pillow, staring at the dark ceiling. "I'm sorry," he added. "It's not like I don't realize that I would be the luckiest man in the world to marry you. And it's not that I don't care about you. I do. So much. And today was amazing. Whenever we're alone, I'm constantly realizing that I could do this forever and be happy. And I don't know if it makes it easier or harder to hear all of this."

"Both," Mae admitted with a chuckle. She put a comforting hand on his arm. "What's the but?"

"But this isn't what life is going to be like after I pick someone. It's not snow ball fights and magical dinners; it's back to the reality of being royalty. And it's not always going to be just us. There's going to be a million people and situations and I'm constantly trying to figure out how all of those things affect my relationships. I try not to let it show, but I'm terrified of making a mistake, because this is my only shot."

"I know," Mae assured him. She chewed her lip for a minute before she added, "And I'm trying to be patient because of… all of that. I might fail sometimes, but I'm trying."

Oliver turned back towards her. "I appreciate that."

She must have seen how much it weighed on him, because she decided, "We don't have to talk about it anymore. But I did just want to mention one more thing."

"Alright," nodded Oliver.

She met his gaze intensely. "I don't need a happily ever after," she smiled, "I just want an ever after. And… I'm pretty sure I want it with you."

Oliver held his breath for a moment, waiting for a declaration like the one that Kaitlyn had made in Likely. He wasn't sure why it meant so much to him to hear Mae tell him that she loved him, but it did, and when it didn't come, he was admittedly disappointed. He pushed it away though and tried to focus on everything else she'd shared with him. It was obvious that she liked him. She might've even loved him but been unwilling to say it unless she knew he could say it back, and with six other girls still left, he wasn't sure that he could.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel worse," she added, nervously biting her lower lip.

Oliver reached out to wrap both of his arms firmly around her. " _You_ don't make me feel bad ever. Life does," he countered, his face buried in her sweet-smelling hair, "You make me feel better most days."

"I'll settle for most days for now," she smiled. She yawned and remarked, "I think it might be time for me to go to bed."

Instinctively, Oliver's arms tightened around her. "Don't go," he requested.

"Is it really a good idea for me to stay when you were talking about kids earlier?" she teased. She broke his grip and sat up.

He rolled his eyes. "I'll be good," he promised, "God, I'm not some sex crazed floosy. Just… stay. I don't want today to end."

The corners of Mae's eyes crinkled as her expression turned from doubtful to happy. "Me neither," she admitted. "But I refuse to sleep in this dress."

He reluctantly climbed out of bed to change out of his suit and tossed her a spare nightshirt. Admittedly, he did have to help her undo her dress since women's formal clothes were surprisingly difficult to get out of, and he had to remind himself that he'd promised to be well behaved after that. When Mae returned to bed, they searched for a Christmas movie on TV. They eventually settled on _The Holiday,_ which he'd never seen but turned out to be one of her favorites. He had a feeling it was going to be a cheesy rom com at its onset, but as they snuggled in bed together, Mae in his arms, Oliver didn't have a single complaint.


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note:** Still going strong with the week of Christmas. I might try to throw in a few oneshots, so keep an eye out for those (no promises though, because the eye strain has been real lol). Thanks again for all the support :) Hope you're enjoying break if you're off school right now!

* * *

"So, this is where the magic happens."

Oliver glanced up to find Kaitlyn in the doorway to his study, leaning against the frame. He was happy to have a reason to drop the budget report he'd been stumbling through and beamed at her arrival. "This is where the torture happens," he retorted. He smirked and pointed at the door to his bedroom with his pen. "The magic happens in there."

Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. "I meant governing, not… whatever your dirty mind is thinking of," she teased.

"Oh," he laughed at the mix-up, "Well, I suppose limited governing happens here. Most of it's still done by my mom, honestly, but if you ever want a fascinating rundown of a year of budget reports, I'm your man."

Kaitlyn paced in a circle around the room, examining the shelves and portraits hanging on the walls. Oliver was about to return to his report when a curious thought popped into his head. "Hey… not that I'm not happy to see you, but how did you get onto the royal family's floor?"

"The guards let me," she shrugged, "I know most of them, and I told them I had a surprise for you!"

Before he could even wonder whether he should have a conversation with Gauge about the guard's letting people onto the royal family's floor, he was distracted by the mention of a surprise. "Really?"

She nodded excitedly. "If you're not too busy, of course," she amended.

"Nope." Oliver tossed the notebook aside. "Free as a bird."

She took his hand and pulled him towards the first floor. Before they reached the front door of the palace, she turned to him and instructed, "Close your eyes."

"Uh…" Oliver didn't like walking into things blind.

"Don't you trust me?" Kaitlyn asked. Although she said it in a teasing way, it was one of those questions that sent Oliver's brain into overdrive. He thought about how dependable she'd been in Likely and how comfortable he'd always felt with Kaitlyn, even back to their first interaction at the pool party when they'd ridden the stupid plastic duck together.

"Of course," he declared. He closed his eyes, and Kaitlyn took both of his hands, leading him outside without incident. For as hyperactive as she could be, she took surprising care in leading him, giving such good directions that he didn't stumble or misstep once.

They didn't go far before Kaitlyn stopped and declared, "Okay. Open your eyes."

Admittedly, Oliver didn't know a lot about cars. He'd never been one of those guys that poured over parts and upgrades in car magazines, as the extent of his car experience was usually just the black town cars that chauffeured the royal family around. But it didn't take a genius to recognize the piece of art that was parked in the driveway.

"That's an Aston Martin Vanquish," Oliver remarked.

"Very good," beamed Kaitlyn.

"What's, uh, what's it doing here?" asked Oliver as he approached the beautiful black car. The top was down, and he ran a hand over the top of the driver's side door.

"You're going to learn how to drive it."

"Excuse me?"

Kaitlyn jingled a set of keys. "Ready?"

Once he was in the driver's seat, Oliver was a little nervous. There were more buttons than he'd thought there'd be, but Kaitlyn ordered him to pay attention to little other than the pedals for the time being. She showed him the gas and brake and explained what the different gears meant. After her brief run down, she instructed him to turn the car on.

It roared to life, which was invigorating enough. But then Kaitlyn instructed him to shift it into drive, and his hands started to sweat on the steering wheel a little.

The first time he put his foot on the gas, he pressed too hard, the shock of which made him jerk the steering wheel harshly to the left. They almost went careening into a hedge, but he pounded his foot onto the break.

"Okay," Kaitlyn swallowed as she put her seatbelt on. "That wasn't… the worst… Just try to a little less this time."

He did as she told him, lightly tapping the gas this time. He didn't want to press it too firmly, but his light taps resulted in a jerky movement that didn't make for the smoothest ride. "Uh… is this right?" he asked.

Kaitlyn looked like she was holding in laughter. "Don't tap," she countered, "Just gently let your foot rest on the gas."

He did as instructed, and the car moved forwards more smoothly. He started to turn the wheel a little too enthusiastically, causing the car to pivot from left to right a little too much, until she put a hand on his to steady his grip. The drive became smoother as he followed the path of the driveway.

"You're doing it!" she squealed, clapping Oliver on the shoulder.

"I'm driving!" he grinned. "Woo!"

Kaitlyn laughed and leaned back in her seat. The cold breeze whipped her hair into her face, but she didn't complain. Instead, she looked perfectly happy as she lounged in the passenger. Oliver reached for her left hand, but she pulled away. "Hey, two hands on the wheel," she ordered, "Two minutes and suddenly you're a pro?"

"Exactly," Oliver grinned. To illustrate his point, he turned the car from the circular turn around in front of the palace towards the driveway.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Kaitlyn asked, bolting up in her seat. "This was a conditional arrangement with your mom and Jonathan as long as we didn't leave the palace!"

Oliver paused to tap his keycode into the gate, grinning when it swung open. A rush of freedom melted over him, and he grinned excitedly as he ignored Kaitlyn's protests and pulled onto the main road. "Where are we going?" she demanded, looking a little panicked.

"Kaitlyn, will you let me take you somewhere?" he retorted. "This is the first time I've ever gotten to take someone anywhere on my own."

"Technically, I suppose you took me to Likely, even though I drove," she countered.

"Let me take you somewhere that ends up much better than Likely," he amended.

Although he could still see the nervousness on her face, she finally nodded. "You're saving me from the wrath of your mother when we get back though."

"No worries," Oliver assured her, "I'm a pro at averting mom's anger."

"Didn't you have to have a Selection in the first place because she was fed up with you…?"

"Beside the point," Oliver decided. "Now, are you gonna DJ, or do I have to do everything around here?" She chuckled but fiddled with the radio as requested.

He didn't want to take them too far away from the palace, so he drove them to a pier that he'd always begged his parents to take him to when he was a kid. The drive went well, but when he realized that there was only parallel parking available, he decided not to test his luck and surrendered the wheel to Kaitlyn. "That looks easy," he remarked as she squeezed the car between two SUVs.

"Oh, definitely," Kaitlyn snorted as she jumped out of the car. She handed the keys back to Oliver, who dropped them into his back pocket.

"I feel so… free and manly," he determined with a grin as he dropped an arm around Kaitlyn's shoulders to pull her into his side.

She snorted. "Glad I could do something for your ego," she teased. "It was really in need."

"Someone's a savage today," Oliver noted.

"Gotta keep you on your toes," smiled Kaitlyn. "So, where are we?"

"Stone Beach Pier," Oliver declared. "We used to come here when I was a kid."

"You gonna show me the highlights?" she asked.

"Of course."

They started at Ray's Famous Hotdogs, although they went for corndogs because Oliver thought hotdogs were gross. When he voiced this opinion to Kaitlyn, she seemed confused since there was little difference between the two besides the breading, but Oliver declared it didn't count and that corndogs were delicious. They took a seat at the counter, and Oliver showed her the proper amount of mustard to drench her corndog in.

He watched her excitedly as she went for the first bite. "Okay, I'll admit I doubted you," Kaitlyn prefaced her decision, "but this is pretty impressive."

"Moral of the story: never doubt Oliver," he announced.

"Let's not go that far," countered Kaitlyn with a giggle.

"So, how was your documentary on… uh, medieval medicine, was it?" Oliver asked.

Kaitlyn snorted as she struggled not to laugh with her corndog in her mouth. After she'd swallowed, she declared, "It was so interesting. I think poor Alaric might be a little traumatized though."

Oliver tried to repress the jealousy that her mention of Alaric sparked and instead noted, "You're really into medicine, huh?"

"Yes," confirmed Kaitlyn. "We've actually started to work on our pitches for our queen projects, and I've been working with the palace doctor, Dr. Groff, for mine, and it's been so much fun."

As she went on about her project—which was a revolutionary approach to women's reproductive health and rights that Illéa hadn't seen since it was the United States—Oliver was enthralled. Listening to people talk about things they were passionate about had always been one of Oliver's favorite things because of the way that it transformed them. As she excitedly talked about the program she hoped to be able to implement, her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her eyes sparkled with a determination that he hadn't seen up until this point.

She was going to change the world, he was sure of it.

"That sounds incredible." He studied her as she took a deep breath, drained by all of the enthusiasm that she'd poured into her explanation of the project. "I have a question that I want you to answer honestly," he added, trying not to frown.

"Okay, shoot," Kaitlyn offered. Her happy expression had lingered, but Oliver had a feeling he was about to ruin it.

"What would you do if you did become queen and couldn't be a nurse anymore?"

A heavy silence settled over the pair. It wasn't often that Kaitlyn was serious. The first time he'd seen it had been in Likely under extreme circumstances, but a similar solemn expression overtook her face now. "I've thought about it a lot," she admitted. "It would be… hard. And I would try to be involved in any way I could through volunteering or the project with Dr. Groff. But overtime, I think I'd be okay."

A small smile tugged at her mouth, and she took Oliver's hand. "We'd be okay."

It seemed like a manageable trade off. While she wouldn't be seeing patients, she would still be able to be involved in the field that she loved while performing her duties as queen. Maybe she was right. Maybe they could be okay.

Kaitlyn seemed ready to brush off the conversation, tossing the stick of her corndog onto her plate. "Where to next?" she asked brightly, the solemnness gone.

"Frozen hot chocolate, of course," Oliver decided. He took her hand and led her back out into the pier. One of his favorite cafes in all of Angeles was located towards the end of the pier, but Kaitlyn paused as they made their way towards it. "What?"

A Christmas themed store had captured her attention. "Can we go in here?" she asked excitedly, turning back to him.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. "Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?"

She blushed. "Well, don't laugh… but sort of. Every year my family and I get each other really silly Christmas sweaters, and I haven't been able to get out and go shopping this year, so…"

Oliver had pulled her into the store as soon as she'd mentioned her family. It was the most Davis-like tradition he'd ever heard of, and he was instantly on board. "Only as long as I get a sweater this year too," he bargained.

"That can definitely be arranged," she beamed.

Hands entwined, the pair meandered through the racks of Christmas sweaters. Kaitlyn seemed to have an eye for finding the most ridiculous ones, and hers was a hit, featuring a furry white llama and the phrase "fa la la la llama." Oliver, for his part, was stuck between one that boasted "Santa's favorite ho" and another that declared "the tree isn't the only thing getting lit this year."

Kaitlyn struggled to keep a straight face when he presented them to her. After much deliberation that almost culminated with Oliver buying both, as he declared he'd find an opportunity to wear them, she finally determined, "I would go with the ho. You _do_ have seven girlfriends."

"Good point," he agreed. They purchased their sweaters and slipped them one before they continued on for their frozen hot chocolate.

Bolstered by their new sweaters, they decided to take their drinks outside so they could sit on a picnic table that overlooked the ocean. Kaitlyn had been doubtful about 'frozen' hot chocolate, as she claimed it defeated the purpose, but after the first sip, she was hooked. "You've impressed me," she decided. "This day was ten out of ten."

Oliver beamed. "Hey, you started it," he pointed out. "None of this would've been possible if I didn't know how to drive." She shrugged off his compliment, blushing into her drink.

As he examined the ocean, Oliver saw a shadowy rock a short distance away that he realized was Pacifica. It was impossible to see any of the construction that was happening on it, but if they caught a ferry, they could be there within the hour. He glanced from Kaitlyn to the island that he'd put so much time and development into. Remembering how she'd discussed the project that she was so enthusiastic about with him made him want to share it with her.

He put an arm around her waist and pointed towards the structure. "You see that?"

"The vague, blurry blob?" she chuckled. "Yes."

"It's an island called Pacifica," he explained. "I've been working on something there lately."

She watched him intently as he explained his plans for the island to be the country's first naval base and how they were working on expanding the military. He told her about the promotions that he'd made to bring people with experience and ideas into the planning and excitedly elaborated on how things had recently stared to come together with Xander's research efforts.

When he finished, she stared at him for a long, quiet moment. He was a little nervous that she didn't approve of him developing a military base, as he knew that some people had strong ideas about such things. But his worry all faded away when she leaned forward to kiss him. "What was that for?" he asked, feeling pleasantly punch-drunk when they parted.

"You amaze me," she smiled. "Constantly. That really sounds amazing, Oliver. I'm… well, it might sound weird, but I'm proud of you."

He let the feeling wash over him and reveled in it for a long moment. It wasn't often that he'd heard such a thing, as he rarely put all of his effort into something to warrant pride. He wrapped his arms around her, their faces holding matching smiles.

Once they'd finished their drinks, they returned to the car, and Oliver managed to sneak out of their parking spot with only having gently tapped the car in front of them. The drive back to the palace was easy, and when he parked the car back in front of the palace, he felt more accomplished than he had in a while.

"Thank you for an amazing day," he smiled over at her in the passenger seat.

"Thank _you_ ," countered Kaitlyn as she threw her arms around him. "Best day." It was something that should've made him happy, but he couldn't help but contrast it with how Mae had said that the end of the Selection would be her favorite day. Despite their close friendship, they were very different girls.

Because he'd played hooky so much recently, he forced himself to return to his study and actually get through some work. He had a date planned with Adelaide for the next day, so there was no shortage of things on his to do list.

By the time of his date the next day, he was so sick of budgets and trying to schedule everyone's accommodations for Christmas that he was practically running to the Women's Room to collect her. He was excited for their date, as it was a little different than some of the other dates that he'd taken the girls on.

She appeared dressed more casually, as he'd instructed, wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a white lace top, and a light pink sweater. Her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and the deep blue eyes looked excited.

"Just hanging out," he answered vaguely. As they headed towards their car, Addie seemed to notice that there were other people by their cars. She seemed to shrink in on herself a little, and Oliver explained, "It's just a few friends. Don't let them scare you."

The fact of the matter was that Oliver didn't have many close friends. His inner circle had included Raphael and Elijah for most of his adolescent life, but recently, Alaric and Xander had been promoted to similar ranks pretty quickly. He'd invited his friends, along with Jonathan, out with him and Adelaide to see how she acted around them in a casual setting. She was the quietest of the girls left, and Oliver needed to make sure that whoever he married was able to relax around his friends at least, even if it took her more time to be comfortable around strangers. He had no doubt about the other girls getting along with his friends, but he wasn't quite sure about Adelaide.

"Addie, you know Elijah, Xander, and Alaric," he reintroduced them, "Everyone, this is Adelaide."

Alaric gave a small wave while Xander shook her hand, but Elijah stepped forward to hug her. "Wow, tall," he remarked to Oliver, causing Addie to blush. "Alright, let's get going, I'm starving." He slid into the car, and the other four piled in after him. Oliver gestured to Addie to slide in after Alaric, but she let Oliver go ahead so that she was pressed between him and the door.

"Where are we going?" Alaric asked.

"It's a little hole in the wall that we like to watch Lions games at," Elijah explained. "They have the best chicken wings you'll ever try."

"Oliver and Elijah have really hyped this up," Xander explained to Adelaide. She managed a small squeak that might've been either a laugh or a cough.

"It's as good as we've told you, I swear," declared Oliver. He put an arm around Addie's shoulders in an attempt to reassure her that it wasn't a big deal, but the tension in her body didn't disappear at his touch, which left him a little disappointed.

Jonathan left them in the car while he checked with security and did a quick sweep of the pub, a small dive bar called Murphy's. When it was deemed safe, the quintet piled out of the car. Adelaide hung behind somewhat as Oliver launched into a disagreement with Elijah about whether the Lions were going to make the playoffs or not.

They were seated at a round table, and all of the boys moved their chairs towards one side so that they could all see the television mounted on the wall. Elijah promptly ordered a round of beer without consulting anyone—typical—and they each requested numerous types of fried, unhealthy, delicious food. When the waitress got to Adelaide, she quietly requested a salad and then lapsed into silence as the boisterous boys began yelling over each other again. Even Alaric, who wasn't the most talkative, seemed long-winded in comparison to Adelaide at the moment.

Since the game hadn't started and their food hadn't been delivered yet, Oliver glanced around. "Hey," he smiled at Addie, "do you want to play a quick game of darts?"

"Sure," she agreed quietly.

The pair slipped away, going unnoticed by the remaining three boys. As Oliver explained the basics of the game, Adelaide was silent, simply nodding her agreement. Oliver lined up for his first shot. "Is everything okay?" he asked. His dart landed right of the bullseye, to his irritation.

"Of course," Addie replied, forcing a smile. She wouldn't have convinced him if he'd been blind and deaf.

"I didn't bring you here as a punishment or anything," chuckled Oliver, "These guys are just my closest friends. I wanted you to meet, maybe get to know each other a little bit."

"It just… takes me a little bit longer to get used to people," Adelaide explained. She tossed her first dart at the board, making it a little further away than Oliver had but not altogether a terrible shot.

"I know," nodded Oliver, "which is why I thought something chill like tonight would be good. Just a calm, chill night." Her forehead puckered, the opposite of the 'calm' that Oliver was trying to get across. He threw another dart.

Addie chewed her lower lip. "I'm just not… I don't know," she frowned. "What if they don't like me?" Tears welled up in her royal blue eyes. "Will you send me home if they don't?"

It was a valid fear that he hadn't realized would plague her. Truthfully, he wouldn't marry someone that his friends didn't like. Aside from his family, their opinions were most important to him. He would fight all of Illéa for someone he loved but not the other people that mattered to his life.

"They'll love you," he assured her, "Just loosen up and be yourself."

"But this _is_ me," she argued. "I'm not outgoing like the other girls."

"You don't have to be," countered Oliver, "But maybe if you just tried to talk to them about something? I know Elijah can be a lot, but Xander and Alaric are pretty easy to get along with. Just make an effort, Ad. That's all I'm asking."

She frowned down at her feet. "I'll try," she replied.

They abandoned their game shortly after, as their food arrived. When they returned to the table, Oliver deftly pulled his own chair out for Adelaide before he fell into hers, placing her between himself and Xander. She looked momentarily terrified but accepted the seat without complaint.

It took her until halfway through the first quarter, but eventually, Adelaide turned to Oliver's three friends. "How are your wings?" she asked, her voice louder than usual.

While the boys looked surprised that she had finally decided to address them, they eagerly responded. "Hot as hell," smirked Elijah, while Alaric declared his to be just as good as they'd claimed, and Xander offered one to Adelaide to try. She accepted, electing to stab it with a fork instead of tearing at it with fingers and teeth like the boys, but she agreed that they were quite good, and the table excitedly placed an order for her own basket of wings. It was a small step but one that made Oliver grin excitedly from behind her. He gave her shoulder an appreciative squeeze.

After that, it seemed easier for Adelaide to talk to the trio. She answered their questions about her modeling career pleasantly—even when Elijah started asking her if she knew models that he'd dated—and only stumbled momentarily when Xander asked about her family. Oliver could tell that she still didn't feel completely comfortable around them, but he was glad to see her make an effort.

He just wished that the same effort would have applied to the Lions game. While Rosalie had been engrossed by the game when she'd watched it with Oliver and had quickly caught on, Adelaide did not have a similar experience. There were several times that she mixed the two teams up despite their different jersey colors, and she asked Oliver about rules far too often for his liking. Alaric, seeing the strain that the constant inquiries were putting on Oliver, tried to answer, but he was terrible when it came to football as well so it was a bit of an uphill battle.

Ultimately, the Lions won, which alleviated any of the tension that had plagued Oliver throughout the game. Elijah ordered a round of celebratory shots, as he usually did, which Addie tried to partake in but ended up choking over. She blushed deeply when Elijah laughed, but Xander made up for it, ordering her a glass of water to help with the burn that the shot had left in her throat.

When the bar started to close, Oliver had their driver take the three back to the palace separately. Instead, he asked Addie if she wanted to take a walk, which she eagerly agreed to. They didn't wrap up in each other as he tended to with Kaitlyn or Mae; instead, a palpable different separated them as they strolled down the dark streets. "I'm sorry if tonight was sort of like an ambush," muttered Oliver. "I guess I just thought it was a good way to figure things out."

"And did you?" Adelaide asked, the fear evident in her voice.

"No," he admitted, and it was true. He'd quiz his friends on what they thought when he returned to the palace, but for now, he was neither comforted or discouraged by how the night had gone. There'd been moments when he'd seen her come out of her shell, which he had appreciated; but as a whole, he was wondering if someone so tentative could be queen. It wasn't that he wanted to change. If he had any other profession, it wouldn't be a problem. But he needed a strong queen.

She frowned deeply and was about to say something when a group of girls appeared before them. They looked to be about Celine's age or younger, but Jonathan still took a step closer to Oliver just in case. One of them was holding a magazine in her hands, and Oliver had a feeling that they were about to ask him for an autograph. He was somewhat surprised and amused instead when one inquired, "I'm sorry, but are you Adelaide Nichols?"

"Uh, yes," confirmed Addie.

The girls squealed in a sharp way that made Oliver jump in surprise. "You're, like, my favorite model!" the girl with the magazine declared. "Would you be able to sign this for me?" She shoved the magazine and a pen towards Addie, who smiled warmly.

"Of course," she agreed with a smile.

"And would we be able to get a picture?" another pressed. She turned and held her phone out to Oliver expectantly, which caused Jonathan to laugh. He'd been in Oliver's position many times when people had noticed the prince while he was out and about, and his guard seemed to be enjoying the change of positions.

He snapped a few pictures for the girls while they chatted with Addie a little longer. She was open and welcoming to them, answering any questions they had and even hugging each of them before they hurried away. "Sorry about that," she smiled at Oliver when they were alone again.

"No," he laughed, "Don't apologize. It was fine."

He meant it. It was what he'd been searching for all night. She'd been at ease with the young girls, unafraid to embrace their conversation and engage with them. It proved to Oliver that she was capable of doing it, even if his loudmouth friends weren't the easiest people to test the ability with.

"That was pretty awesome," noted Oliver as they began to walk again.

Adelaide shrugged it off. "I meet a lot of young girls, actually," she smiled, "They're always so sweet and easy to talk to."

"Just pretend that Elijah is a teenage girl next time," he suggested, "There's not much of a difference if we're being honest."

Adelaide giggled and took a step closer to Oliver, the discomfort obviously dissipating. "I'm sorry about tonight," she frowned, "It just wasn't what I was expecting. I tried."

"I know," he assured her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't bad, I swear. And I'm not going to send you home over one sorta weird night or anything."

"Good," she smiled.

They walked a little longer until the car returned to take them back to the palace. Oliver walked her to her room, although it was more for himself than her. He knew that as soon as he returned to his own room, he was going to be ambushed by Elijah and possibly Alaric and Xander as well.

His guess proved true when he opened his door. "Uh… hey guys."

All three, in addition to Jonathan, lounged on his couch. "Join the party," beckoned Elijah.

Oliver wasn't sure that he wanted to join the party, but he had a feeling he'd be forced to even if he declined. "What's up?" he asked as he leaned on the coffee table, trying to keep some distance between him and the other four.

"I don't see you with her," Elijah declared bluntly.

"Well, _I_ think she was nice," challenged Xander. "A little shy, but—"

"Oliver, when in the history of all of our escapades have you ever gone for someone shy?" demanded Elijah.

"Maybe his tastes have changed," suggested Alaric. He was always the picture of optimism.

Elijah rolled his eyes. "The country is going to eat her alive. Sometimes, it seems like your dad is too nice to be king. I'm ninety percent sure Adelaide is comprised only of unicorns and kittens and fluffy pink clouds, and I just don't think those things are going to hold up under pressure."

He frowned and turned his attention to the other three. "What do you guys think?"

Jonathan held his hands up. "I can't," he declined, "I'm biased. Sara and I are shipping you and Mae too hard after her birthday."

Xander frowned. "Yeah, I'm kind of Team Margaery over here, so…"

Oliver glanced at Alaric. "Let me guess," he sighed, exasperated, "You're pulling for Kaitlyn?"

"No," Alaric answered, a little too quickly. A second later, he added, "I think that all of the girls are special in their own and different ways. You've just got to figure out what you're looking for. You really can't go wrong."

Oliver put his face in his hands and groaned. "Oh, you guys are killing me. If I knew what I was looking for, this thing would've been over weeks ago."

"Sorry, man," shrugged Elijah, "I'm _trying_ to tell you now, but since apparently my opinion doesn't matter anymore—"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic."

"No, I understand!" Elijah declared as he rose to his feet. "I know when I'm not wanted. Whatever. I'm gonna go raid your wine cellar."

Oliver laughed as the four of them filed out of his room. So the night hadn't been as illuminating as he'd hoped for, but it had reaffirmed that he had some pretty great friends. It was a little strange to hear that they were pulling for different girls and to hear their different opinions, but he filed them all away just in case. It was more than he'd had that morning, he consoled himself.

The door to his study was beckoning to him, as he still had a lot of work that he'd been avoiding, but he decided to put it off further until morning. Instead, he watching a sports commentary show while he scanned the girl's bios again.

There was nothing there that was helpful anymore though. While he'd barely even known their names when the Selection had started, he could now tell people what their parents' names were, their heights, their highest level of education, and any special skills they had. He knew them on paper.

The problem was he didn't know himself, he was beginning to realize. He groaned and pulled up the calendar on his phone. Christmas was in a little over a week. As much as it sucked to eliminate people around the holidays, he decided that he was going to be down to six girls instead of seven by Christmas day.


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note:** This chapter was something that I always knew had to be done in the course of the story, but I think it turned out pretty well. Thanks again for all the support :D

* * *

Considering he'd spent every Friday of his life on the set of _The Report_ , it always felt like second nature for Oliver. It was one of the few obligations that he was never late for, because his Friday routines had been the same for years: early dinner, shower, at set by 6:45. Then, he would sit under the hot lights with a mechanical smile pasted on his face while his parents discussed the state of the nation, although he was unsure how they always had something to talk about since it was a weekly program. Really, how much had changed in a week?

Of course, the shows had been a little different since the start of the Selection. More of the attention had centered on not only him but also the girls. While the royal family retained their usual seats center stage, there were additional stadium seats lined up to their left for the girls. With their numbers dwindled, there was now only a single line of seven chairs.

This particular Friday, there was also a small podium and easel off to the royal family's right side. Additionally, the girls who had spent the last couple of months getting more comfortable on the show all wore similarly anxious expressions, although some looked downright terrified.

"Should I, uh, say anything to them?" Oliver asked his dad. "You've been here. Can I help at all?"

Kile shrugged. "Not really," he admitted, "It's their first taste of being queen. That's terrifying for anyone who hasn't been born into it."

"I mean, it doesn't really matter though, does it?" asked Oliver.

Kile laughed. "More than you would think," he retorted. "By this time tomorrow, every television station, magazine, and radio show will have an opinion about what the girls do tonight. They'll dissect their project and intentions, but also the way they present it, all trying to decide who they think is most fitted to be queen."

Oliver whistled. "That's a lot."

His father nodded his agreement. "Just be supportive," he suggested.

Oliver slipped off his chair and approached the girls. A few, like Rosalie and Adelaide, looked downright terrified. Margaery was reading over notecards, while Gabi was going over her speech aloud under her breath. When Oliver stopped in front of them, they all froze. "Hey." He gave them a small wave.

Seven pairs of eyes landed on him. "Uh… obviously, I've never been in your guys' shoes," he began, "I gave my first speech on _The Report_ when I was seven. But I do know that I think you guys are all really great no matter what happens tonight. Don't worry about what everyone thinks. People thought I was useless before this thing started, and you guys still entered, so…"

A few chuckled, while the others managed meek smiles. "I do know that these philanthropy projects all represent something that's important to you guys, so I'm sure you're all gonna do great." He punctuated his pep talk with a reassuring smile. The two-minute warning sounded a moment later, so he gave them a supportive thumbs-up gesture and then took his place at his mother's left side.

"Are they nervous?" she asked.

Oliver straightened his cuff links, thinking of the ones that Tristan always stole. They would've looked great with his tie. "No," he lied. Eadlyn was rarely impressed by discomfort, as she tended to associate it with lack of preparation.

She gave a sly smile, not fooled by Oliver's lie. "You have an impressive group of girls," she commented. "I'm sure they'll do just fine. Adequate, if nothing else."

Oliver rolled his eyes but smiled. "Thanks, Mom."

Coen strode onto the stage in one of his well-tailored suits, his handsome face already primed with his camera-ready smile. "Everyone ready?" His eyes swept over the girls before they landed on Eadlyn. "You're Majesty?"

"Go ahead, Coen," she nodded. She glanced briefly at the Elite. "Good luck, ladies." Her well-wishes seemed to unsettle them more than anything, but they had little time to recover before the cameras burst to life.

"Good evening, Illéa!" Coen boomed into his microphone. "Welcome to a very special edition of your weekly _Report_! Tonight, in addition to an update from our effervescent Queen Eadlyn and inimitable Prince Oliver, we are joined by the very special members of the Elite, who come to us tonight to share the philanthropy projects they intend to take on if they are the lucky girl that wins the Prince's heart."

There was polite applause from the audience, and when it quieted, Coen directed the attention to Eadlyn. She discussed the upcoming Christmas appearances that Tristan and Isolde were scheduled to make, inviting people out to meet them and discussed resources that were available to help the less unfortunate during the holiday season, encouraging those in need of assistance to seek them out and those who could offer support to do so as well. She had always been a calm, measured speaker and didn't stumble once.

After Oliver's brief segment, Coen directed the attention back to the girls. They each had seven minutes to explain their projects, and if there were questions afterward, Coen would facilitate. They were going to present in the order that they were speaking in, so Kaitlyn approached the podium first.

She'd given Oliver a brief explanation of her program when they'd visited Stone Beach Pier, and she sounded just as impassioned as she explained it to the country. He hadn't been sure of what to expect, as she was an outgoing person once you knew her, but she was a shockingly confident speaker. It was clear that she cared about her project, but she didn't get tripped up by her excitement at all. Throughout her speech, she directed the attention to a poster that showed graphs representing the percentages of women who did not have access to reproductive healthcare and the benefits that countries around the world who put healthcare decisions in women's hands saw.

When she finished, there was a brief applause—led by Oliver, Mae, and Alaric—and Coen asked if there were any questions. Always a hard hitter, Eadlyn spoke up. "Lady Kaitlyn," she smiled. Oliver watched as Kaitlyn's smile stumbled for a moment. "What would you say to those who disagree with the choices that you have outlined for women in regards to their reproductive health?"

Oliver wanted to roll his eyes. Of course his mother would pick out on the most controversial facet of Kaitlyn's presentation. "You mean abortions?" Kaitlyn blurted.

Eadlyn forced a smile. "Yes. There are many who disagree with the practice for moral or religious reasons."

Kaitlyn's brow furrowed. "Well, Your Majesty, while it is a controversial procedure, it has been shown to save women's lives under dire circumstances and is rarely a decision that is made flippantly, even in countries where the procedure is available. And to those who oppose increased access to reproductive healthcare based on this one small aspect, I would just like to point out that firstly, we have always been a secular nation, so an individual's religion should not impede the reproductive freedom of another. One of my closest friends is a very religious person, while I am a very medically minded, and although we have differing opinions on the matter, we would never force those opinions on the other. Secondly, abortion procedures would be regulated, and thirdly, it is a choice an individual should be able to make for themselves. Just because the procedure is available does not mean anyone would be forced to utilize it."

Oliver was somewhat surprised. Kaitlyn looked deadly serious, and she'd answered Eadlyn's questions boldly and firmly, her position on the question clear. He liked that. While some people thought that being evasive was the way to succeed in politics, Oliver liked when people fought for what they believed.

Evidently Eadlyn did too. Her smile was much more genuine when she replied, "Thank you, Lady Kaitlyn."

By the time Kaitlyn took her seat to another round of applause, Oliver realized that his hands were sweating. While he was probably nowhere close to as nervous as they were, he wanted them to do well. Kaitlyn had knocked it out of the park, and it allowed him to relax slightly as Mae stood to take the microphone.

Mae took a deep breath before she began to speak. "One of the things that I've always felt most strongly about is the belief that people are inherently equal," she explained, "Even as I stand here, a member of a group of ladies dubbed the 'Elite', there is nothing that makes me any better or less than anyone else out there."

"However," she continued, and Oliver could see the sadness in her eyes, "I also believe that it's very difficult for people to succeed when there are extenuating circumstances that they must overcome."

She went on to discuss her plan to increase resources for orphans and underprivileged children. She'd gone through old budget reports that Tia Marcela had had the girls read over in their studies and found places that funding could be used to aid support programs for children, mostly in the hopes of preparing them for higher education and careers that would allow them to conquer the circumstances that had tried to hold them back. Although the country wouldn't know, Oliver could tell that her project was inspired by the time she'd spent as an escort, an attempt to make sure that no other littles girls had to turn to something similar.

By the time she'd finished, there was a lump in his throat that Oliver had to swallow away. "Children are our future," she concluded, "and I intend to do whatever I can to make sure that our future is filled with strong, smart girls and boys."

After the applause, Kile was the first to ask a question. He was a little surprised when he heard what it was though. "Lady Mae, what is it that makes you so passionate about those who are going through difficult times?" He knew that his father knew that Mae's parents had died and thought it was a little unfair of him to bring it up.

Until he realized that the country didn't know. Seeing how far she had come and how much Mae had overcome was one of the things that made every beautiful aspect of her personality even more remarkable, and Kile wanted the country to know.

Mae hesitated only for a second. "I grew up with the most wonderful, loving parents. But when I was sixteen, both of my parents died in a car crash," she explained. "I was fortunate enough to find work. It wasn't work that I enjoyed or utilized the things that I think I have to offer to the world, but it allowed me to take care of myself when I had no one else left. It breaks my heart to think that there are children out there who have and are enduring worse. I want to help them, so that they're able to help use their skills and talents to make Illéa an even better country."

Another round of applause sounded, and Mae retook her seat.

The emotions that Oliver found himself grappling with were not abated by Adelaide, who came next. Her plan was to institute more agencies that offer services to children and families. As she spoke, Oliver could tell that her plan as built upon the abuse that she had suffered at the hands of her mother. She discussed how a lot of schools eliminated guidance counselors due to budget cuts but explained that children needed a safe place that they could go in the event that they didn't feel comfortable or safe talking to anyone at home. Eadlyn's sole question was about funding, which Adelaide managed an alright answer to, although the area that she'd suggested borrowing money from had already been drained by the yet unannounced plans for Pacifica.

Rosalie took the stage afterwards. Her cheeks were a little flushed with nerves, but as soon as she took the podium, a determined look lit up her eyes behind her glasses. She took a deep breath and launched into her presentation. "I was born into a family of performers," she explained. "The earliest memories I have are of sing-alongs on family drives or hanging out backstage while my dad worked. I love the theater and performing, and I think that it offers some really incredible opportunities and skillsets to children."

"However," her smile turned tentative, "I never thought about the other things that I could get involved with as a kid. Recently, I had a chance to watch a football game with someone very special to me, and I realized how much I love it. I love the competitiveness of sports, the talent that athletes exhibit. Maybe if I had been exposed to such things as a child, you'd be talking to football player Rosalie today instead of actress Rosalie." There was a chuckle from the audience as they all imagined tiny Rosalie as a football player.

Her plan was one to open rec centers in each of the provinces. She understood that it would be a slow process and would require years of fundraising, but if they were able to open locations that gave children the opportunity to explore different things like the arts and sports, many of which weren't offered in traditional public schools any longer, kids would be able to find and pursue their passions. Oliver loved the idea and was amazed that the Lions game had really inspired her so much.

Once Rosalie returned to her seat, Gabi hurried to the front. Her program was an extension of the program that she'd discussed at the horse race, instead just on a large scale. She discussed how she'd started the charity that connected elderly people with student pen pals and how it could be implemented across the nation and the benefits that it had to the happiness of both parties. Oliver still liked the idea, although he could tell by the tense set of his mother's mouth that she wasn't as fond of the idea as some of the others.

Patricia took to the podium with the same amount of fervor that he had expected. "To start, I have to say that the Selection has really introduced me to some incredible girls," she declared with a smile at the other Elite. "But what I like best about the group that I have the pleasure of being a part of is the fact that not a single one of us would list our looks as the most impressive thing about us. We all have different skills, many of which are the results of our brilliant minds."

"Education has always been incredibly important to my family," she explained. "My father is a chemist, and he's always told me that education is a tool that will open doors. But not everyone feels the same way. Some people view education as a chore, something that they're just trying to get through, or an expensive necessary evil, as it is often hard for families to afford. I think changing the mindset about that is one of the best things that we could do for our country."

Under the umbrella of educational reform, Patricia wanted to offer scholarships to the largest college in each province that students could earn by completing tutoring hours with younger students still in their primary education. Her plan was simple but comprehensive, as she explained that the scholarships could be fundraised for, both through wealthy alumni but also things like bake sales or book drives through the primary schools that would benefit from the arrangement as well. She also suggested that student scholarship recipients could partner with businesses who would help to subsidize the cost of their education in exchange for work, if the work was in their desired field. Oliver liked the idea and could tell that Kile did as well, as he excitedly asked questions about how people would be able to get involved.

Margaery's pitch was the one that sent him for a bit of a loop. She started her speech discussing her father's company and how they were involved in weapons development. However, once she started speaking, Oliver's stomach clenched. Her suggestion was a plan to get illegal weapons off the streets to decrease rates of violence in the provinces and decrease the number of companies that were involved in Illéa's arms race so that they could focus on building society up instead of providing the means with which to destroy it. Additionally, she suggested that they work on a volunteer army who would be more suited for wartime activities, instead of the draft. Technically, the draft was only instated during times of warfare, which confused Oliver further since he didn't see the relevance.

Oliver's stomach churned as he listened. She knew about Pacifica. She knew that Xander was going to be Earl Marshal. She knew that all of her family's renown came from the very things that she was advocating against. When she finished, he was too confused to even question it. His mother asked if she thought that it would leave the country vulnerable, and Margaery promptly disagreed in some flowery language that sounded good even to Oliver.

He smiled through the rest of _The Report_ , but when the lights all died and the stage started to empty, Oliver made a beeline to Margaery. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," she smiled. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the nearest room outside of the stage.

"What was that?" he demanded as he turned to her.

Margaery didn't look surprised. "Just hear me out," she requested, "Oliver, it was just politics."

"What?" he demanded, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"I come from a family that is known for producing weapons," she explained, "You are currently in the process of expanding Illéa's military forces. Together, that doesn't really paint the best picture. If we were to end up together, we could be looked at as aggressive by other governments or even the people. I didn't want that. And I do think that gun violence is terrible and something needs to be done about it, so I figured that if I made that my focus as queen…"

"it would look better," Oliver concluded. She had a point. Even if he came off as a warmongering king, he'd have a pleasant wife who wanted world peace.

He frowned. "I wish you would've given me a heads up."

"I'm sorry," she immediately offered, "I didn't realize it would bother you so much. You know that I support all of the incredible work you've been doing with Pacifica."

"What about Xander?" frowned Oliver. "His job is dealing directly with the military and weaponry."

Her face adopted a more apologetic expression. "It's just politics," she repeated, "It's how the game's played. Xander understands, even if he doesn't like it. You need people to like whoever your queen is, and I didn't want my family's business to be a strike against me."

Regardless of what he thought of her methods, he appreciated the motive. "You don't have to worry about what people think," he countered, pulling her in for a brief hug. "I'm not going to let anyone dictate what happens in this Selection. It's more than just politics or a game. It's my life, and I'm taking it seriously."

"Okay," Margaery whispered in a small voice as she hugged him tightly in return.

But regardless of whether he cared about the opinions, he knew they would be abundant in the morning. The first thing he'd done when he woke up was reach for the remote on his bedside table and turn on the news. He hadn't been shocked by what people were saying—Kaitlyn's was without a doubt the most controversial, garnering a mixture of praise and criticism, while Patricia, Mae, and Rosalie were being praised as the most innovative.

He'd gone about his day normally, trying to ignore all the talk. Nothing that any news anchor or journalist had to say was going to change his mind, and he didn't care much for the polls that were posted either. He'd learned from the Tristan and Isolde situation that people would embrace whoever was put before them as long as she was pretty, smart, and endearing, which all of the girls were.

Throughout breakfast, he'd noticed that the girls were a little quieter than usual, although he didn't give it much thought. He figured that they might've been up late celebrating getting one of the most stressful requirements of the Selection out of the way. That is, until they remained downcast through dinner, and Tia Marcela pulled him aside.

"You have to do something," she declared, "They've been doing nothing but reading the papers and watching television all day. They're obsessed."

"With what people think of their projects?" frowned Oliver.

"Not just their projects," his aunt countered with a knowing smile, "It's more what they're saying about them. They're talking about their 'odds' like they have any clue other than what they see in the media, and the girls are hanging on their every word. Even the ones I thought were too sensible have gotten sucked in. It's not healthy."

Oliver laughed. He remembered the first time he'd seen himself in a newspaper. He'd been six and had attended the opening of a hospital with his father. The media had gone into a frenzy over their crown prince, and he'd asked his grandfather Maxon to read him the caption under his photo the next day. They'd called him 'charming', and for a week, he'd refused to let any address him as anything other than "Prince Oliver the charming."

He wasn't shocked the girls were doing the same. "I'll talk to them," Oliver decided with a chuckle, "Maybe plan something that keeps them away from TVs or newspapers tonight."

"Good," smiled Tia Marcela. "If you're looking for them, I guarantee they'll be glued to the television in the Women's Room in the meantime."

He was more than willing to do something with the girls to take their minds off the feedback, but the only problem was he found himself a little stumped on the details. He had nothing planned for the night, and last minute ideas had never been his strong suit. He frowned and made his way towards the living room that Elijah had dubbed 'the Men's Room'.

As he'd expected, Elijah, Everly, Alaric, and Xander were all lounging in the room. "Plan a date for me for tonight," he requested as he fell onto the couch. "The girls are obsessing, apparently."

"First media frenzy?" Everly asked knowingly.

"I think it's harder because there's only seven of them. When they first started, there were thirty-five to divert the interest," he explained.

"The first real attention you get is always weird anyway," reasoned Xander. "After I was announced as Earl Marshal, a newspaper called me 'a charming ginger', and I swear my hair was all I saw when I looked in the mirror for a week.'

"That makes sense," nodded Alaric. "My first write up in a newspaper called me shy and awkward."

"Mine was obnoxious," chortled Elijah.

"It wasn't the first, but I was called an ugly duckling among swans once," noted Everly. Elijah choked on his drink laughing, and she slapped him in response. "It was _only_ because all of my sisters are blonde," she declared.

"Of course," Elijah agreed as he wrapped an arm around Everly and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

"Back to me, please and thank you," Oliver declared. "How do I distract them?" Elijah immediately wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Oliver rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring his friend.

They bounced a few ideas around—Oliver promptly vetoed Alaric's suggestion of a bible study and Elijah's of a pole dancing class—before a lightbulb went off in Oliver's head. "Christmas cookies," he decided. "We can bake and decorate Christmas cookies."

Elijah rolled his eyes. "You're going to get fat." He paused for a second before he added, "Bring me some when you're done though."

"Want any help?" Alaric offered.

Swallowing down the constant suspicion surrounding Alaric and Kaitlyn, Oliver generously agreed. "Sure," he shrugged, "I don't know how to cook at all, so that'd be cool. I'll grab Sara too."

When he explained operation distraction to her, Sara excitedly agreed. She, Jonathan, and Alaric—Xander had decided to sit it out so he didn't make Margaery feel uncomfortable—headed to the kitchen to start preparations while Oliver collected the girls.

It took a minute for them to grant him admission to the Women's Room, and when he walked in, it was suspiciously quiet. The televisions were all off, and there was no sign of a single newspaper or magazine. The girls all lounged on different couches and chairs, the picture of relaxation.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Did you guys make me wait out there while you hid all the evidence?"

"Ha," Gabi scoffed. "How silly would that be?"

"Just ridiculous," agreed Kaitlyn. She shifted on the couch she was lounging on, and a curled-up newspaper fell to the ground. All eight pairs of eyes in the room landed on the paper.

"Alright," laughed Oliver, "Who else is sitting on or hiding in some other form a newspaper or magazine?" Looking abashed, every girl produced at least one.

"Guys, this is silly," he chuckled. "Everyone go throw on something comfortable and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes. No pit-stops for television or to read any sort of gossip about yourselves or the Selection."

Twenty minutes later, they regrouped in the kitchen. While Oliver and the girls were changing into sweatpants and pajamas—he'd taken it real far and even traded his contacts for his glasses—Sara and her team had already whipped up some dough for sugar cookies. The chefs had provided them with a whole pile of Christmas themed cookie cutters, and some gathered around the various islands and counters to begin cutting the dough while Sara led others through making different flavors of cookies.

Not particularly fond of cooking, Oliver floated between the various groups instead of sticking himself in one spot. Kaitlyn and Mae had been put in charge of the chocolate chip cookies, so he joined them first so he could steal a handful of chocolate chips. "I didn't know you wore glasses," Kaitlyn remarked at his appearance.

"They make you look so much smarter," teased Mae.

"Wow, thanks," he scoffed, "I put this together to cheer you guys up, and this is how I'm thanked."

Kaitlyn smiled. "It was nice of you," she admitted, "I'll admit… I was obsessing a little."

"A little?" Mae cocked an eyebrow. "This magazine sponsored by a coalition of ultra-religious mothers called her 'soulless', and it took Alaric all morning to talk her off the ledge."

"Well, it took me all morning to convince Mae that she didn't have to find them and kick their butts," challenged Kaitlyn.

Mae shrugged. "They can't come for my friends like that."

Oliver put a hand on Kaitlyn's shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "You know I loved your idea," he reminded her, thinking back to their date at the pier. "Medicine's always been… innovative. Not everyone's going to be on board. Forget about them though."

"Cookies will help," Kaitlyn decided.

"I found the extra chocolate chips!" Alaric declared as he joined the group. "And the dark chocolate ones, per Maely's request."

"Good, because Oliver's eaten half of our supply," smirked Mae as she reached for the bag of chips. "And for the millionth time, you can call me Mae."

"I like Maelys," Alaric shrugged. "It sounds cool."

"I like Mae and Maelys," Oliver interjected. He frowned when he realized how jealous and petty it had sounded.

Mae, on the other hand laughed. "Thank you…?"

Alaric shot him a confused expression, and Oliver repressed the urge to roll his eyes at himself. He was being ridiculous. "Okay, well, enjoy the chips," he decided, "I'm gonna… circulate."

He caught Gabi next, who was alone by the ovens checking on the first batch of cookies. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, causing her to giggle in a pleased manner as he hugged her. "Do you think I'm crazy?" he frowned, thinking back to how obnoxiously he'd responded to Alaric's innocent comment.

"We are all sometimes," shrugged Gabi as she put a hand over his. "Case in point: us today. Thank you for dragging us out of there. It was seriously unhealthy."

"Well, that helps," he sighed, "We can all be crazy together."

Gabi turned towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'd also be happy with just the two of us being crazy together," she smiled.

He could tell that she was considering leaning forward on her tiptoes to kiss him, so to distract her, Oliver added, "Hey, remember how we were talking about taking the casinos by storm?" She nodded. "Well, I _happen_ to have to go to Zuni this weekend for a state event. Would you want to come with me? It'll be quick, just a brief in and out, but we might have a few hours to stop by a casino—"

"Yes!" she beamed excitedly. "I would love to!"

"Okay," he agreed, smiling down at her. "It's a date then, Lady Gabrielle."

With the first batch of cookies out of the oven, Patricia, Rosalie, Adelaide, and Margaery were at work decorating. Oliver joined them, checking out the different styles. Rosalie and Adelaide were creative with the tubes of frosting, while Patricia's were simple but realistically frosted—trees all green, gingerbread men neatly dressed in shirts and pants, and any Santa Clauses with their bears properly groomed. Margaery's were as neat and attractive as her ornament had been.

"You gonna decorate any?" Patricia asked as Oliver observed their different techniques.

"Nope," he decided as he noticed her camera sitting off to the side. He grabbed the camera and snapped a few shots of the girls.

"Party pooper," declared Patricia.

"Yeah, come on, decorate at least one," encouraged Margaery.

"Ugh, fine," groaned Oliver. He picked up a tube of frosting and a snowman shaped cookie. He'd never been particularly skilled when it came to any type of art, but he did his best to give the snowman a discernible face and hat. "There," he declared, nudging the cookie towards the girls for their inspection.

"Uh… it's…" Adelaide trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Why are its eyes two totally different sizes?" demanded Patricia, making the other girls laugh.

"Hence why I will be documenting tonight," decided Oliver as he bit the snowman's head off to hide the evidence. They laughed but agreed to allow him out of decorating duties.

He sidled up to Sara as she was overseeing the last batch of snickerdoodles. "Hey," he greeted her, bumping her hip with his.

"You look like you're in a good mood," she noted as she paused in her stirring.

"I am," he agreed. "Thanks for your help."

"Of course," she smiled. "Besides, Jonathan was just telling me that snickerdoodles were his favorite type of cookie, so I suppose I had ulterior motives as well."

"Where is his beautiful bald head?" Oliver frowned, glancing around.

"He's on duty tonight," shrugged Sara. "Didn't you know?"

"I thought I was his duty," admitted Oliver.

She laughed. "You realize he does work even when you're not in need of him, don't you?"

Admittedly, Oliver hadn't. "Oh, yeah, of course," he shrugged. "Well, be sure to grab as much as you want for him. I mean, have you seen that man eat? He's huge." Sara laughed and swatted Oliver's arm playfully.

By the time all the dough had been cooked and decorated, there was no sign that the girls were even thinking about what the media had been saying all day. It turned out to be the perfect distraction. Instead of frowns and brows creased in worry, there were only smiles and laughter.

When Oliver returned to his room with a plate of cookies in hand, he was a little confused to see his mom standing near his French doors. She didn't seem to notice the sound of the door opening, so Oliver cleared his throat and added, "Uh, hi."

Even after she turned around, she looked distracted. She didn't speak, so to fill the silence in the air, he held up the tray and offered, "Christmas cookie?"

She waved a hand, her attention focused on the ground. "Oliver…"

"Is everything okay?" he frowned. A chill worked its way down his spine, and for some reason, he was suddenly afraid of what she was going to say next.

"I just got word from General Gauge less than an hour ago," she declared, her eyes refusing to meet Oliver's. "They received an alert from the airport's watch list."

"What is it?" he demanded. Her evasion made him nervous, and being nervous had always irritated him.

She crossed her arms, eyes still focused on her shoes. "Marid Illéa boarded a plane for Russia earlier this afternoon."

When she finally raised her gaze to meet his, Oliver saw the fear in them. "Well… maybe he's just visiting Regan," he reasoned, "I mean, it is the holidays, and she's having a kid, so…"

"Yes," Eadlyn agreed. Oliver could tell that she didn't think that was the case though. She put a hand on his cheek, studying her eldest son's face for a long moment. "Let's hope so."


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note:** The week of Christmas is almost over! One more day. This chapter is a little less fluffy than the last few, but some exciting things are coming up, so I hope you enjoy.

I did just want to mention some really special thank yous: **morethanjustastory** , your review made my day! It was incredible! Also, to **Anonymous** who said they binge read all 34 chapters, thank you so much. I've done that before myself, so to have _Holding_ be that story for someone just had me over the moon. And to all of my great and very loyal reviewers throughout this week: **wolfofstark, Fryllabrille201, rysaspirit, Canadaorbust,** and **MeWithASideOfSprinkles.** You've kept me motivated through these last six chapters so thank you!

* * *

When Oliver swung by Gabi's room to pick her up at seven AM and sleepily apologized for the early call time, she waved him off. Unlike him, she was already wide awake and ready for the long day ahead of them.

The plan was to fly into Zuni, arriving around nine. Oliver had an early morning interview—which he'd been dreading ever since he had somehow been cajoled into it—and after that, he and Gabi would have their grand casino adventure before they had to get ready. Oliver would depart for the first portion of the event at five, and then Gabi would join him for the cocktail hour and reception at six. Then, they would fly back to Angeles later that night.

Oliver wasn't often required to attend state events on his own, being the crown prince. He was reserved for the most special of occasions, and he would have been able to avoid this one if it weren't for the fact that it was the wedding of Laurel Whisk, daughter of Lady Brice Manor-Whisks. Oliver wasn't sure exactly how it worked, since Lady Brice was his grandfather Maxon's illegitimate sister, but Laurel was family, and as such, one of the special instances that Oliver was rolled out for.

Because there was such a busy day ahead of them, Oliver requested the largest of their private jets, and when Gabi boarded it, her jaw dropped. "Oh, my _Lord_!"

Oliver laughed, although he found her voice a little too loud and excited for how tired he still felt. He dropped onto the leather couch and leaned back, feet kicked up on one of the plush arms. "One of the perks of being prince," he admitted. A deep yawned brought water to his eyes. "Ugh, although having to wake up at ungodly hours is a definite con."

"Oh, it's not that early," countered Gabi. She settled herself in an arm chair, pulling a magazine from her bag. The title read _Gemstones Today_ , and there were already numerous little flags marking different pages in the book.

"A morning person?" groaned Oliver. "That's it. We'll never work. This is the end."

Gabi briefly laughed, although she added, "Don't tease like that," shortly after.

Oliver reminded himself that she was one of the more sensitive girls and offered an apologetic smile. "What are these?" he asked as he ran his finger of a line of the colorful flags in her magazine to change the subject.

"Just some spots of inspiration," she explained. She opened to one of the pages and pointed to a princess cut aquamarine. "Like, how gorgeous is that?"

It was clear that she was passionate about her work back in Sumner, but Oliver frowned at the jewelry. "Are you…" He was unsure of how to phrase his question. "I don't know, preparing for life after the Selection?"

Gabi's frame tensed for a minute before she started flipping through the pages more energetically. "No," she countered. "I can make jewelry when I'm queen. I'm sure the palace has an endless supply of jewels, and then I'd be able to wear my own creations." An excited smile pulled at her mouth at the thought.

"But we already have a royal jeweler," Oliver pointed out, thinking of Hans. "And I'm not sure that you'd necessarily have time. The queen's responsible for keeping the palace in operation, you know."

The smile quickly disappeared. "So, there won't be any time for the things that I like?"

"No, that's not what I meant," countered Oliver. He suddenly felt too vulnerable lying down, and he sat up to face her. "I just mean that making jewelry sounds like a lot of work. And expensive. Just because we're royalty doesn't mean we have an endless supply of money at our fingertips."

"He says from the leather couch of his private jet," Gabi noted dryly.

"That's different from precious metals and rocks," Oliver dismissed the sassy statement. "Besides, we have enough jewelry for ten queens in the royal vault."

"Why does this bother you so much?" demanded Gabi.

It was a fair question, but one that Oliver couldn't answered. The more he thought about it, the more it just seemed wasteful to him. He'd already been working on streamlining the budget. He didn't want his queen to be a complication in that process. "I think I'm just tired," he sighed. "I'm going to go take a nap."

Without waiting for her response, he headed down the hall to the bedroom. The queen-sized bed had never looked more inviting, and he fell face first onto the fluffy duvet and feather pillows.

He'd only had a moment to consider his disagreement with Gabi before he fell asleep. All too soon, Jonathan was shaking him awake with the announcement that they'd landed in Zuni. Oliver laid in bed a minute longer, not quite ready to face Gabi as he realized that he wasn't exactly over their conversation earlier. Finally, he sighed and propelled himself out of bed, although he decided he was locking himself in the bedroom for good if there was a single mention of the word 'jewel' or 'gemstone.'

Gabi was in the same seat that he'd left her, the magazine on her lap featuring more tabs than it had prior to his departure. However, if she was still irritated, it didn't show. Instead, a pleasant smile lit up her face. "Hey, Sleepyhead," she greeted him.

Oliver laughed. "Hey."

"Uh, I ordered you breakfast," she announced, pointing to the table on the plane. "Jonathan said you might not have time to grab anything on the way to the television studio, so I figured you might be hungry."

It was a nice gesture and enough for Oliver to resolve to forget about the rough start that their adventure had gotten off to. "Thanks," he sighed as he grabbed the plate off the table. "I'm starving."

After breakfast, he changed into a pair of dark jeans and a button up in the bathroom of the plane. Gabi grabbed her bag, as she'd be taken to a hotel room to get ready while Oliver suffered through his interview, and the pair, along with Jonathan, were whisked away into a car.

He and Jonathan were dropped off at the biggest television studio in Zuni, not a far drive from venue for Laurel's wedding. There was an entourage of people to meet them upon their arrival, and after Oliver had shaken about a dozen hands, he was led to his dressing room. He hated wearing makeup for television appearances but liked that they did something with his usually unruly hair, so he tried not to complain too much when the stylists arrived.

His mother always requested a copy of the topics that would be covered when Oliver was interviewed by a news outlet other than Coen or the palace's media team, and as he sat in the chair while his hair was styled to an effortlessly messy perfection, he scanned the questions. There were several that Eadlyn had crossed out—they weren't allowed to ask about the legality of Isolde's relationship with Tristan, nor was he going to discuss Evelyn's article or Marid's potential involvement—but for the most part, they were what Oliver would have expected: what were the royal family's plans for the holidays, how had his birthday gone, information on the Selection, generally boring things that he had no idea why anyone would want to hear about.

Before the show went live, Jonathan and the security team that he had hand-selected to travel with them did an inspection of the set to make sure that everything was up to their specifications. Jonathan had no regard for the host's worry that they wouldn't be ready to go live at their specified time slot and was thorough in his work as always, his brow furrowing more deeply each time the host attempted to rush him.

Finally, Oliver was permitted to leave his dressing room, and he shook hands with the co-anchors, a man named Marcus and a woman named Andi. He took his seat and tried to focus on the run down that the hosts were giving him; in reality, he was bored, instead wondering if he would have time to catch another quick nap between the casino excursion and the wedding ceremony.

The hot lights and cameras soared to life, and it was only Oliver's years of experience with studio sets that prevented him from squinting against the harsh bulbs. "Welcome back to _Good Morning, Zuni_!" Andi beamed into the camera. "Today, we are joined by a very special guest, his Royal Highness, Prince Oliver. Your Highness, thank you for being here with us today."

"Thank you for having me, Andi, Marcus," he smiled, turning the charm all the way up. It seemed to work, because Andi gave an obnoxious giggle.

"What brings you to Zuni today, Your Highness?" Marcus asked. Oliver told him about Laurel's wedding and briefly answered a question about the level of closeness between his family and that of Lady Brice Manor's. Oliver didn't like questions about his family.

"So, Your Highness, as everyone knows you're in the midst of a very exciting time right now," Marcus began.

"Yes, the Selection!" championed Andi. Oliver tried not to roll his eyes. "Tell us a little bit about the experience and, more importantly, the Elite!"

He'd hoped it wouldn't come up, but he resolved himself to soldiering through the question as best as he could. "It's been interesting," he admitted. "I think that as much as you grow up hearing about my parents' and even grandparents' Selections, it's something that you can't really imagine until you're experiencing it. But it's been great so far, and I think I've learned a lot about myself throughout the process."

"So, do we have a potential queen in the Elite?"

Almost automatically, Oliver answered, "Yes, of course."

Despite his affirmative answer, the hosts looked disappointed. "Any hints you could give us as to who it might be?" prodded Andi.

"No," laughed Oliver, "If I were ready to make the announcement any time soon, I would be back in Angeles preparing for it. Sorry for the disappointment." His answer was clipped, the type of thing that Eadlyn would surely suggest he avoid in the future, but Oliver had no interest in entertaining personal questions.

They seemed unwilling to drop the topic yet though. "What are you looking for in a wife, Your Highness?" Andi asked sweetly.

He wanted to bang his head against the window behind him. "I'm figuring it out," he demurred, "But it is incredibly important to me that I pick someone who is going to be make an amazing queen."

"Would you want to get married soon, Your Highness?" Marcus asked. "We've heard rumors that your brother, Prince Tristan, will be getting married in February."

"It's a good thing that Tristan and I aren't ever in any sort of race, because he would beat me every time," Oliver declared, "Guy's got about four inches on me, all legs."

"So, a long engagement then?" surmised Andi.

"I would just like to get engaged first before I start thinking about that stuff," Oliver countered. The hosts were clearly frustrated by the lack of information that he was willing to share, and they soon moved on to the next topic, which was Laurel's wedding.

By the time they finally released him, Oliver needed a shower. Under the hot lights and the frustration of being interrogated, he'd sweated through his shirt and was in as dour as a mood as he'd been earlier in the morning. He had Jonathan call Gabi and tell him he'd be a little late and hopped in the shower in his dressing room. With his interview over and not as juicy as he was sure the hosts had hoped, no one bothered him on his way out of the studio.

The hotel that Gabi was awaiting them at was one of the larger ones in Zuni and luckily had a casino located inside. Oliver had picked it for this purpose, as it meant that they wouldn't have to duck any photographers or have Jonathan's security team canvas two separate buildings. Since Zuni was a little warmer than Angeles, she was dressed in a white flowered skirt and a white shirt. An excited smile played on her face as she waved to him.

"I watched your interview," she smiled when he took her hand to lead her down to the casino. "It was great."

"Really?" laughed Oliver. "I think the news anchors were a little fed up with me."

Gabi giggled. "Well, they tried their best, but you were pretty good at throwing them off your trail," she commented. "It just sort of made me wonder…"

"Wonder what?" he asked.

"Well, _do_ you want a long engagement?" she asked.

"Uh… I don't know," shrugged Oliver. "Usually, when I avoid something in an interview, it really just means that I have no clue what to say."

"Isn't that something we should be thinking about though?" Gabi frowned. "I mean, it's something that you'll have to decide soon."

Oliver wasn't sure how he felt about her use of 'we'. He supposed the girls probably all imagined themselves as the one he was going to end up with, but something about it made his sweater feel overly warm. "Yeah, I don't know," he mumbled again. Luckily, they arrived at the casino, which took the attention off him.

"Wow," commented Gabi when they walked in. "This is huge!" She seemed adequately distracted, and Oliver exhaled a sigh of relief.

The manager of the casino met them at the door, looking excited to have such high-profile guests. He excitedly showed them around and offered his assistance if they needed anything at all. When he left them, Oliver turned to Gabi. "Where to first? This is your party."

There was every sort of table available, but Gabi's eyes landed on the slot machines first. "Can we try these?" she suggested.

Oliver laughed. "Any card game in the world, and you want to go to the slots."

"I like pulling the lever," she shrugged with a smile. She took his hand, and they took adjoining slot machines.

Oliver, however, didn't enjoy the slot machines. He was irritated to find that he lost on them far too often and declared them to be a ploy. "Alright," Gabi giggled when his surliness at the machine reached its apex, "What would His Royal Grumpiness like to check out?"

Oliver glanced around before a smirk played on his face. "Roulette."

He'd always liked the roulette table because of the simplicity of the game and the fact that it could become so high-stakes so fast. Gabi had never played before, but she quickly caught on and decided that she'd liked the game. It seemed to ease some of the underlying tension between them, and by their third round, Gabi was perched on the edge of his knee, an arm around his neck and their heads resting together.

After roulette, they decided to visit the poker table, although Oliver hung back while Gabi took the lead. He, admittedly, was a terrible poker player, but he didn't want to share this embarrassing piece of information so instead he just explained that he'd cheer her on. He stuck to this plan and must've done well, because Gabi made a killing at the table.

They'd only had a few hours to spend at the casino because of the wedding awaiting them, but Gabi was pleased with the success she'd had. As they made their way through the lobby of the hotel, she paused. "Will you do something with me?" she asked, biting her bottom lip adorably.

"Of course," Oliver agreed. When she was in a good mood, there was little he could ever deny her.

She handed him a poker chip and nodded at the fountain in the middle of the lobby. "Make a wish with me?"

He laughed but agreed. They turned their backs on the fountain, and after a count of three, both sent their poker chip flying over their head into the water. "What did you wish for?" Oliver asked.

"Don't you know the first rule of wishes?" she teased. "You can't tell anyone, or it won't come true."

"Well, that explains a lifetime of disappointing wish attempts," quipped Oliver. Gabi laughed, and he put an arm around her waist as they made their way back to the suite that had been rented for them.

"Are you sure you're okay with just meeting me for the reception?" Oliver frowned as he struggled with his tie in the mirror.

"Of course," smiled Gabi. She was fresh from the shower in a fluffy robe and her hair wrapped into a towel on her head. "I wouldn't want to take any attention away from the actual wedding."

It was enough for him. "Alright," he nodded, tie finally conquered. He grabbed the gift that his mother had sent with him, and a few minutes later, he and Oliver were being whisked to the church.

In order to not take any attention away from the wedding, Oliver arrived early so that he could be situated before any of the other guests. Jonathan led him inside, but before they could get much further, a petite older woman approached them.

Lady Brice looked nothing like his grandfather. Where grandfather Maxon was fair, Lady Brice had dark hair and petite, delicate features. She'd aged since Oliver had last seen her when he was a child, but he supposed he'd gotten older as well. Her chocolate colored eyes were warm, and when she hugged him, Oliver felt like he was genuinely excited to see him.

"Oh, you look so much like your parents when they were young!" Lady Brice declared. "A perfect mixture of Eadlyn and Kile, and so handsome!"

Oliver laughed awkwardly. "Thanks, Aunt Brice. And thank you for the invitation. Really, I'm honored."

"Of course!" She waved off his thanks and took his arm, leading him to the front of the pews. "We'll have you sit in the front row with us, of course."

"Are you sure?" frowned Oliver. "I'd be okay somewhere in the back. I'm sure that Laurel will be stunning, but I don't want anyone whispering about the dopey prince in the front row."

"Oh, nonsense, Oliver," she laughed. "We wouldn't have it any other way. But where is your date? Your mother said you were bringing one of the Elite with you, and I'm so excited to meet her."

"She'll be coming for the reception," explained Oliver. "I thought inviting her to a family wedding was a bit… serious."

Lady Brice quirked an eyebrow. "Isn't this a girl you might potentially marry?"

"Yes," he agreed, "but… I don't know. She kind of clings onto things sometimes and reads really far into them. And I didn't want any of the other girls to get jealous or anything."

His great-aunt nodded understandingly. "It's a very complicated process, isn't it?" she sighed. "I remember when your poor mother was going through hers. And while serving as regent to boot."

"No clue how she did that," admitted Oliver with a chuckle. "I would've run away to be a hermit by now if mom wasn't here to take care of the country and everything."

Lady Brice showed him and Jonathan to their seats before she departed to check on Laurel. Since Oliver had insisted on showing up early, it was at least twenty minutes before anyone else showed up. Oliver spent the time replying to emails on his phone, but eventually, he got bored.

"Who ya texting?" he asked as he glanced at Jonathan, whose phone was also in his hand.

Jonathan arched an eyebrow. "One guess."

Oliver smirked. "Tell Sara I said hello."

Eventually, the opening chords of the wedding march sounded, and church stood. While most of the guests craned their heads to take a look at his cousin, Oliver glanced at her husband-to-be. The man was trying to keep it together, but there were tears in his eyes, and his best man had to give his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. Eventually, Lady Brice's husband, Fred, deposited Laurel at the altar, handing her hands over to her fiancé.

Weddings had never impressed Oliver much. Prior to his Selection, he'd always felt bad for the grooms. They were trading away their freedom, and they always looked so damn happy doing it that it had thoroughly perplexed Oliver.

But now… now he kind of got it. As he watched Laurel and her groom exchange their vows, there was a definite dull ache in his chest. He wanted it. He wanted to cry as his wife walked down the aisle, he wanted to promise her parents that he would take care of her for the rest of their lives, and he wanted that fresh start with her.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly noticed when Jonathan nudged him. "What?" he whispered, trying not to attract any attention. Jonathan simply smirked and held out a tissue. Oliver rolled his eyes but accepted it. "Tell anyone about this, and you're fired," he threatened as he dabbed at the slight wisps of emotion in his eyes. Jonathan nodded his understanding.

Once Laurel and her husband were announced as Mr. and Mrs. Fields, Oliver joined the crowd in rising and applauding. "That was a beautiful wedding," he told his great-aunt, who was crying much more openly than Oliver had.

"It really was," she agreed.

The venue for the reception was close by, and Gabi was promptly waiting for them when they arrived. She was dressed in a glittering pink gown, her blonde hair pulled into an updo. "Hi!" she smiled, reaching onto her tiptoes to kiss him in an act that left Oliver a little surprised.

"Hi," he replied. "You look amazing."

"Thank you!" she beamed as she gave a slight twirl. A waiter offered them an hor d'oeurves and a glass of wine, which Oliver eagerly accepted. "Introduce me to everyone," Gabi encouraged brightly as she gestured to the people milling about.

Oliver laughed. "I would," he admitted, "Except, if we're being honest, I don't even know everyone here. I can introduce you to my aunt and cousin though. I know Aunt Brice is dying to meet you."

Gabi seemed pleased by this, so Oliver led her towards the older woman. "Uh, Aunt Brice?"

"Oh, you must be Gabrielle!" Lady Brice enthusiastically brought Gabi in for a hug, and Oliver could practically see the happiness gleaming out of Gabi's face. "It's so nice to meet you. I was at the palace for Oliver's mother's Selection, you know…" As Lady Brice began to regale Gabi with tales of Selections past, Oliver turned to Jonathan.

"How soon before we can escape back to Angeles?" he frowned.

"Not soon enough," commiserated Jonathan. He held his phone out to Oliver, which showed a picture of Sara smiling with her thumbs up next to a ham that she'd just cooked. "How did I land her?"

"No idea," admitted Oliver with a chuckle. "So, things are going well?"

While Jonathan was usually a private person, this time, he nodded cautiously. "I like her a lot."

Oliver smirked. "Like just a lot, or like…?"

Jonathan's tan face colored. While Oliver expected one of Jonathan's usual surly warnings—a typical "Don't go there, Oliver" or something of the like—his body guard nodded. "Yep."

Oliver's eyes widened. "Yep what?" he demanded.

"I love her," Jonathan nodded. Oliver choked on his drink. "I'm in love with her." The choking didn't stop.

In fact, it escalated so badly that Jonathan had to lead Oliver away from Gabi and Lady Brice to get him a glass of water. "How can you possibly know that?" demanded Oliver when he could breathe again. "She's been here for like a month!"

"I just know," shrugged Jonathan. "I can feel it. I want to spend the rest of my life with that girl."

There wasn't an ounce of joking or flippancy in Jonathan's face. "Damn." It was all Oliver could say. Damn.

Gabi joined them a moment later, looking concerned. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," nodded Oliver. "I just drank too much champagne." He tried to laugh it off, but Gabi didn't look convinced. He put an arm around her shoulders to quell her curiosity, and instead suggested, "Oh, hey, let me introduce you to the bride."

Laurel had visited Angeles on occasion, and although it had been a while since Oliver had last seen her, she looked ecstatic that he had made it. "It's so good to see you!" she squealed as she hugged Oliver.

"Congratulations," Oliver replied. "It really was a beautiful wedding. Jonathan cried."

At his side, Gabi cleared her throat. Oliver repressed a grimace and added, "Uh, Laurel, this is Lady Gabrielle."

"Congratulations!" Gabi beamed. "Your dress is so beautiful!"

Somehow, the two women were soon engrossed in a conversation about Gabi's matchmaking side business back home. Too quickly for Oliver's liking, the conversation quickly turned to the wedding and somehow—uncomfortably—to what Gabi wanted of her wedding, at which point Oliver realized that he was nervous sweating again.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Gabi, can we dance?" he asked, loudly and abruptly.

"Of course," she agreed. Oliver felt a little downcast as he realized that she didn't notice that he seemed off at all as they took a turn on the dancefloor.

The night couldn't end soon enough, in Oliver's opinion. The weird feeling that had started to nag him as he listened to Gabi and Laurel talk didn't disappear throughout dinner, and to Gabi's dismay, Oliver told his aunt that they'd be cutting out a little early because of questionable weather in Angeles.

Oliver didn't walk Gabi back to her room when they arrived at the palace. The day had been bizarre, something that left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He also didn't want to return to his room though, uneager to be questioned by either his mother about how the wedding was or his friends about how the date aspect was.

So instead, he searched out one of the conference rooms that was rarely used at all. He had a particular one in mind, on the first floor of the palace near the theater. He planned to have some food sent up, maybe read the paper, and watch a mind-numbing episode of reality TV so that he could avoid everyone until morning at least.

However, Oliver froze when he walked into the room. It was pitch black, the fire that was kept lit in all the fireplaces of the palace having been extinguished. However, he could hear rustling and knew that he wasn't alone in the room. "Hello?" he called, his heartbeat ticking a little faster than normal.

There was a pause. "Oliver?"

He grappled for the switch on the wall. "Patricia?"

His hand landed on the light switch, and he started to turn it, only for Patricia to yell, "No!" He jumped but turned the light off.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

There was another rustling and a slight bang (along with the sound of her swearing, which made Oliver think she had run into something). A minute later, he could fell Patricia's presence in front of him. She took his hand and led him back towards the area that she'd come from. "I use this as my darkroom," she explained. "Your dad said it was fine, since no one usually comes in here."

"He was right," admitted Oliver, "I wouldn't have shown up here if I weren't…"

Patricia's brows furrowed. "If you weren't…?"

"I was kind of looking for somewhere I wouldn't be found," he admitted with a sigh.

Patricia frowned as she moved a picture around with a pair of tongs in some chemical bath. "That doesn't sound good," she noted.

"No," frowned Oliver. "I guess it's not."

"Want to talk about it?" asked Patricia. She plucked the picture from its bath and hung it up on a line with several other sheets of paper.

Oliver found himself distracted by the pictures on the line. "What are these?" he asked, his own problems momentarily forgotten.

"Oh." He couldn't tell what her face looked like in the dim lighting of the darkroom, but her voice sounded a little embarrassed. "I'm just developing some of my favorites. I was planning on giving the other girls pictures that I think would mean a lot to them for Christmas."

Oliver smiled to himself and put an arm around Patricia's shoulders. "That's a really awesome idea. Can I be one of the girls for this present?"

"Oh, I've got something in the works for you," she teased, "if I'm still here by the time Christmas rolls around, that is."

Her reference to eliminations reminded Oliver of what had been bothering him in the first place, and he sighed. "Is that what was bothering you?" Patricia correctly surmised.

"Yeah." He thought of his day with Gabi. They'd certainly had ups and downs over the course of the day. And he liked her, he knew that much. But instead of just being unsure, now he had concerns. He was beginning to realize that it was once the concerns developed that he really started to worry.

Concerns were what had gotten the last members of the Elite eliminated.

"Not your elimination," he specified when Patricia didn't respond.

"Whew," she breathed exaggeratedly. "You can't be so ominous about things like that. You're gonna give a girl a heart attack."

"Sorry," he laughed. He gave her shoulder a quick pat. "No, Patricia, you're stuck with me for a while, I think."

He wished he could see her face, to know whether she had smiled or not at his reassurance. "Is it Gabi or Adelaide that's concerning you?" she asked as she turned back to the developing smiles.

Oliver's eyebrows arched in surprise. "How'd you know?"

"You're not always the hardest to read," she chuckled. "As much as you think you're some big mysterious guy, you're not."

"Ouch, are you trying to kill my ego?" he asked.

She laughed but didn't respond. She pulled open a drawer on the table and shuffled through for a minute before she pulled out two smaller pictures. "If you're really feeling unsure enough that you're considering eliminations, look at these," she instructed as she handed him two photos. "They might give you some kind of clarity."

Since it was too dark for him to thoroughly inspect them at the moment, he tucked them into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Any time," replied Patricia.

And when she said it, he didn't doubt it. Throughout the Selection, Patricia had always been there for him—when he needed to get away, when he needed to talk, when he needed to laugh. She was dependable, certainly a good friend if nothing else.

He'd once heard something about love being a friendship set on fire. He wasn't sure where he'd heard of it, but it was important to him that his wife was his best friend as well. He and Patricia might not have been as passionate as he was with other girls, but their solid friendship was the reason he was so unwilling to let her go.

"Can we do something?" he asked.

"Right now?" she asked. She looked at her watch. "It's midnight."

"No," laughed Oliver, "Not right now. This week though? I'll think of something good, I swear."

She chuckled. "I don't need anything 'good,'" she countered, "but I would love to hang out."

"Awesome," he grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow, Patricia."

He left her alone in the darkroom, pulling the door shut tightly behind him. Before he started for his bedroom though, he pulled the two pictures that Patricia had given him from his pocket. While most of Patricia's pictures were taken randomly, trying to catch people at their happiest, he had a feeling that these two were taken for a purpose, the stark contrast that they created.

In one, he was with Adelaide. She was talking, and he was listening. He couldn't remember what they'd been talking about at the time of the picture, but he looked fine in the picture. His face was neutral, the very corners slightly upturned. One of his hands loosely held one of Adelaide's.

The second picture was one of him talking to Kaitlyn. It was the same scene: Kaitlyn was talking, and he was listening. But this time, he looked enthralled. Kaitlyn was gesturing wildly as she always did, and Oliver was smiling so widely that his eyes were scrunched up. With her hands in the air, he couldn't hold to either of them, but he had a hand on her knee, gripping it tightly as though he didn't want her to get away.

He sighed and leaned against the wall as he held the two pictures up beside each other. His self-inflicted Christmas deadline loomed only a few days away, which made him feel even more conflicted.

His intention was to return to his room, but with the pictures still looming in his mind, he was only somewhat surprised when he found himself outside of Kaitlyn's room. Despite the late hour, he raised his hand to knock on the door.

He was more surprised when she answered the door herself a short minute later. Although she was dressed casually in a pair of sweatpants, a white tanktop, and an unbuttoned flannel, it didn't look like he'd roused her from bed. "Oliver," she smiled. She looked shocked but delighted to see him. "Come in."

"What's up?" he asked with a laugh. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Oh," she laughed, "I was hanging out with Alaric and Mae. We played monopoly. He'd never played before; can you believe that?"

Oliver snorted. "His father is basically Satan, so not too shocked," he admitted. He walked into her room and saw that the remnants of their monopoly game were still laid out on her coffee table.

"Why aren't _you_ asleep?" challenged Kaitlyn. She took a seat on her couch and patted the spot beside her.

Oliver joined her and stretched his legs out over hers. She laughed but didn't protest. "Thinking," he admitted, "I just got back from Zuni a little bit ago, and there's been a lot on my mind."

"Anything I can help you with?" she asked, exactly as he'd hoped she would.

Oliver had opened his mouth and was prepared to respond when a sudden blaring cut him off. A flashing light exploded from the ceiling as well, blinking in time to the sound. Both he and Kaitlyn jumped, grabbing each other's arms. "What is that?" Kaitlyn demanded as the rhythmic noise continued to boom.

It wasn't a sound that he'd ever heard before in his lifetime, but almost immediately, Oliver knew. His brow furrowed. "It's an alarm," he whispered, fear prickling up and down his body.


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Note** : The end of the week of Christmas! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me this week :) You were great motivators, and I hope you enjoyed my gift to you. My only request is please don't come for me with pitchforks after this chapter. I promise it hurt me too. If you celebrate Christmas, MERRY CHRISTMAS! If not, I hope you're having an awesome weekend and happy holidays :D

* * *

Before either Oliver or Kaitlyn could even think to move, the door to her room banged open. Almost instinctively, Oliver shifted in front of her. She'd gotten hurt on his watch once before. He wasn't going to let it happen again.

But instead of the anticipated foe, a mixture of relief and confusion flooded Oliver's brain as Jonathan strode into the room. "Jonathan, what—"

"Come on," Jonathan ordered, his tone more serious than Oliver had ever heard before. He grabbed the prince's arm and crossed to a corner of Kaitlyn's room. Jonathan's enormous hands slid up and down the paneled wall. "Damn it," he grumbled under his breath while his hands frantically traced the panel. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and his muscles strained as he pushed.

The wall opened to reveal a stone staircase. Without speaking, Jonathan ushered Oliver and Kaitlyn into the stairwell. "What's going on?" Oliver demanded, pausing at the top of the stairs. To his surprise, Jonathan shoved him forward so roughly that he had to grab the rickety railing that lined the stairs.

"Go," ordered Jonathan.

"Not until you tell me what's happening," Oliver countered, although he'd already begun to take the stairs two at a time. When someone as large as Jonathan was on your heels, it was hard to make a meaningful stand.

"The palace is going into lockdown," Jonathan explained when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Even though it was a relatively simple sentence, Oliver's brain had refused to comprehend it. "What?" It was the only word that he could think of. All the thoughts and fears in his mind were swirling around until they eventually ended up at the same place: _what_.

Kaitlyn put a hand on his arm, as though she was trying to comfort him, but her face held a similar expression of bewilderment.

"This way," Jonathan urged. He led them down a small, dusty stone hallway. If they were in the pits of the palace, they were lower than Oliver had ever been.

When they arrived at a metal door, Jonathan pressed his thumb onto a keypad. The keypad flashed green, and the door swung open to reveal a plain room that looked like it hadn't been used in years. There were two cots, a sink, toilet, and a small supply of canned items. A light layer of dust covered everything, and a combined scent of dust and mildew floated through the air.

Jonathan herded them into the room and sealed the door behind them. "Now will you explain what the hell is going on?" Oliver demanded of his guard. His voice was shakier than he would have liked.

When he turned towards them, Jonathan's usually tanned skin was ashen, and it took him a moment to find his voice. "The palace is in lockdown," he repeated. "This is your saferoom. There are two people who are authorized to open this door: myself and General Gauge."

"Okay, I'm just going to throw this out here: that sounds extreme," Oliver declared.

Instead of rolling his eyes or cracking a grin like he normally would, Jonathan's serious expression darkened. "You're the crown prince, Oliver," he continued, "In an event like this, your safety is our prime concern. I'm trained to find you, wherever you are in the palace, and get you to the saferoom in under five minutes once the alarm is sounded."

His sudden appearance in Kaitlyn's room made more sense with Jonathan's explanation. But it also caused a new concern to blossom in Oliver's brain. "What about everyone else?" he demanded. "The other Elite? Sara? The rest of my family?"

The mention of Sara seemed to unsettle Jonathan. Oliver watched his knuckles turn white as his hands tightened into fists. "I have to trust that Sara's guard will protect her and get her to a safe room," he replied, the pain obvious in his voice. "Just like you have to trust that the other Elite's guards will do the same. My only concern is you in the event of something like this. Lady Kaitlyn is only here because you were with her." He paused before he added, "Uh, no offense, Kaitlyn."

But she looked too dazed and frightened to be offended by his honesty. Oliver eased her onto a cot before he turned back to Jonathan. "What about the rest of my family?" he repeated.

Jonathan frowned. "Your mother will be isolated, just like you are, while Celine is in a saferoom with your father." He must have predicted the question on Oliver's tongue about why they weren't together at a time like this, because he explained, "The heirs and primary monarch—in this case your mother—have to be separated in the event that… something happens."

His explanation left Oliver dazed, and he stumbled onto the cot beside Kaitlyn. When he found his voice again, he turned his wide eyes on his guard and friend and croaked, "Jonathan, what's happened? Is someone in the castle?"

"We're not sure," Jonathan admitted. "This could be precautionary for all we know. But…" He trailed off, a frown creasing his face.

"But what?" Oliver wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer, but not knowing was going to drive him crazy.

"There's been…"

He could practically see Jonathan searching for a way to explain it, and Oliver swallowed deeply, steeling himself for whatever came next. "What happened?" he repeated in a tone that betrayed all his fear and anticipation.

There was a long pause before Jonathan took a deep breath and made Oliver realize one of his worst fears: "Tristan's plane crashed."

It took a moment for Oliver's reaction to come. Almost instinctively, he nodded and said, "Okay." A plane crash. Tristan. Tristan in a plane crash.

But then as he combined the words in numerous reiterations in his brain, he realized that no combination was okay. No matter how he strung the phrase, it was not okay. "Oh, my god," he gulped. He felt physically ill.

Beside him, Kaitlyn had started to shake. He glanced at her, wanting to comfort her but unsure of how. "Isolde…" she breathed.

Oliver glanced at his body guard, the question about his brother's fiancée in his eyes. It was possible they'd been apart, that Tristan had been on the plane alone. But Jonathan nodded, and he wasn't sure if Kaitlyn grabbed him or vice versa, but their hands were cutting into each other's arms a moment later.

Before Oliver could demand more details, Jonathan provided them. "They're being flown back to Angeles by helicopter. We're not sure the extent of their injuries, but… the pilot's dead. And, Oliver, there's… there's something else."

Something else? What else could there possibly be? "What is it?" he mumbled.

"The crash… it was caused by a Russian carrier jet."

Bile and a white-hot fury rose in Oliver's throat. " _What?_ " His voice was no longer weak and disbelieving. Instead, it sliced through the silence like a knife, a sharp embodiment of the prince's rage.

He released Kaitlyn and was on his feet in an instant. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd grabbed the front of Jonathan's shirt and shoved his guard against the wall with an unnatural strength, much more extreme than the force that he usually possessed. There was a small voice in his head that argued that Jonathan was just the messenger and couldn't have done anything to prevent the Russian plane, but Oliver needed to lash out. He needed to hold someone responsible, because under his watch, his greatest political enemy had attacked his brother.

"Why was a Russian plane even in Illéan airspace?" he demanded. His voice was a harsh yell, too large for the small room that the three were locked in at the moment.

Jonathan was unyielding under Oliver's wrath. If anything, his face was understanding, as though he condoned Oliver's reaction. "I don't know, Oliver," he admitted, "You're going to have to ask your mother."

"They were supposed to be on a tour of the country. _My_ tour," Oliver breathed.

"I know." Jonathan's voice was soothing, as though he was trying to comfort Oliver. He reached up and gently removed Oliver's grip on his shirt. As though he knew what had begun to transpire in the distraught prince's head, he declared, "It's not your fault."

Oliver lapsed into silence, and Jonathan led him back to the cot beside Kaitlyn. Like a doll, he was seated on the cot by his guard, and Kaitlyn reached out to grip his hand with her own shaking palm. His brain kept revisiting the facts that he knew in an obsessive loop: Tristan and Isolde had been doing his Christmas appearances. Their plane had been crashed by a Russian jet. They were hurt. He was in lockdown.

Time wasn't real in the room, and Oliver had no clue how long they waited before the locks of the door began to rattle. Jonathan rose first, quietly signaling Oliver and Kaitlyn to stand behind the door. They followed his instruction like robots, and Jonathan pulled a gun from his belt, standing directly in front of the door.

"Stand down."

Gauge. It was Gauge.

The gun was holstered as General Gauge entered the room. Oliver had a million questions, but before he could voice a single one, the Gauge announced, "Your brother's back."

It wasn't manly, it wasn't princely, it wasn't even remotely dignified, but Oliver took off for the hospital wing at a run. He had a feeling that the group he'd left in the saferoom was behind him, but he didn't stop to check. His only thought was that Tristan was back, which meant he was alive, and Oliver needed to see him.

"My brother," he demanded when he burst into the hospital room, "Where is my brother?" A nurse tried to explain something to him, but it was too slow, and she wasn't leading him to Tristan, so Oliver cut her off with an order: "I don't care, just take me to him!"

He must've yelled the demand louder than he'd intended to, because a door opened to his left, and his mother appeared. Her face was white, her eyes red, and she looked like she'd aged ten years overnight. A lump formed in Oliver's throat. He might've been a twenty-one-year-old future king, but right now, he needed his mother. "Mom," he croaked.

"Oliver," she exhaled, the relief evident in her voice. She had him in her arms less than a second later.

"Tristan." Oliver pulled away, his own eyes bleary with tears. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

"He's going to be okay," Eadlyn assured him, his emotion mimicked in her eyes. "He's in surgery."

Surgery did not sound like he was going to be okay. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"It's his right arm," explained Eadlyn. "Broken from clavicle to wrist. I haven't been able to talk to him, but the doctors says he was likely pinned under something. Other than that, he's perfectly fine. Some cuts and bruises, but he's going to be okay."

"And Isolde?"

This time, Eadlyn frowned. "She's having an emergency appendectomy right now," she explained, "She has internal bleeding that the doctors are trying to stop. Dr. Groff is tending to her personally himself though, and he promises he's going to do the best he can."

Oliver swallowed deeply. The feeling of relief at Tristan's condition had been eradicated by Isolde's. "Mom, what the hell happened?"

Eadlyn glanced around the hospital wing before she sighed. "Come with me." She led him into Dr. Groff's private office and closed the door behind her.

"A Russian carrier jet ran into their plane before it had taken off the runway," she explained. "The pilot was killed, and some of the flight crew were injured. We'll be sending our condolences and compensation to their families and personally visiting them after the holiday."

"Why was a Russian plane even here?" Oliver pressed.

She looked hesitant, and she turned away from Oliver before she admitted, "Tristan and Isolde were going to Russia."

" _What_?" His voice had returned to a volume too loud, too harsh.

Eadlyn squared her shoulders and turned back to him. "It was supposed to be a brief visit," she explained, "Less than a day. They would land in the morning and then be off to Italy by night, France the next day, and back in Illéa by Christmas eve. With Marid's latest bout of unpredictability, I needed to make a show of good will to Tsar Anatoly before Marid gets in his ear. So, since I couldn't send you—"

"You sent the second son," Oliver concluded, the disgust obvious in his voice.

Guilt flashed across her face. "I never thought—"

"No, of course you didn't, because you don't listen to me!" snapped Oliver. "How many times do I have to tell you that Nikolai is an actual _psychopath_?"

"I wasn't dealing with Nikolai," she protested, "I only spoke to the tsar and the tsarevich."

"But clearly both Nikolai and Marid have their hands in this. There's no way the crash was an accident." It couldn't have been. Royal flights were always regarded with the highest measure of security. Any plane that came within a certain radius of the airstrip while a royal jet was present would've been instructed to turn around and informed of the consequences they would face if they did not.

It didn't matter how it had happened though, Oliver realized. It had happened, and now they had to deal with it. He sighed. "So, what's next? A declaration?"

Eadlyn's brown furrowed. "A declaration?"

"We'll have to reinstate the first round of the draft immediately," Oliver mused, his mind already going through the mobilization tactics that he'd studied with the help of General Cairn and Gauge.

"The draft? Oliver, what on earth are you talking about?"

His jaw dropped when he realized she was not on the same page as him. "Mom, this was an open act of aggression against our family! Against Illéa!"

"If we responded to every act of aggression with war, we wouldn't have a country left to defend," she retorted. Her face softened briefly before she added, "We can't prove it was intentional, Oliver."

"But you _know_ it was!"

"I know nothing of the sort!" Eadlyn snapped. "For all I know, the Russians were sending a jet for Tristan and Isolde as an act of courtesy."

It was maddening. The fact that she was trying to justify the incident that had left his brother and soon-to-be sister in operating rooms was incomprehensible to Oliver. "Mom—"

"An appropriate response is a matter for me to discuss with Generals Cairn and Gauge," Eadlyn rejoined coolly. "Not you. You're still just a prince, Oliver."

"Who is going to be left with a country at the brink of war if you let Russia push us around like this!" he fumed.

"That's enough, Oliver."

They both turned to find Kile in the doorway. "Dad, you can't tell me you agree with her—"

"I agree that it's her job to decide what to do next," retorted Kile. He approached his son and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Oliver, I know you're angry and scared right now. But Tristan is going to be okay, and Dr. Groff is hopeful about Isolde. The entire coast has been declared a no-fly zone for at least the next twenty-four hours, with the understanding that any aircrafts in violation will be shot down. There's nothing to worry about anymore."

It was a naïve point of view, in Oliver's opinion. But he grit his teeth together and decided it was useless. With Kile on her side, there was no way Eadlyn was going to hear him out. Seeing the danger simmering in his son's eyes, Kile added, "Tristan should be out of surgery soon. Why don't you go wait for him?"

Without another word to either of them, Oliver stalked from the room. He'd been prepared to ask a nurse which room his brother was going to be in when a band of people caught his attention.

All seven of the Elite were huddled together in the hallway of the hospital wing. Some were in pajamas, while others had changed, but they all wore similarly grim expressions. They'd seemed to have come together though, several of them with arms wrapped around each other.

Oliver slowly approached them. Mae was the first to notice him, and she eagerly asked, "Have you heard anything?"

His mouth felt like sawdust. He didn't want to deliver the bad news, but he couldn't lie to her. "Tristan's going to be okay," he began, "Isolde… she's still in surgery."

He could tell that she knew what he was trying to avoid saying, but instead of her eyes filling with tears, she fixed her face into a determined expression and nodded. "Isolde's strong," was all she said in reply. She tightened her embrace around Kaitlyn.

"Are you okay?" a small voice asked.

Rosalie. Oliver turned in her direction and pondered the question for a moment. "No," he realized.

A wave of sadness passed over her face, but instead of saying anything, she reached out and hugged Oliver. The gesture was so comforting that he had to swallow down a too familiar lump of emotion and instead tried to express the unsaid by gripping her tightly in return.

While the girls normally jostled to be near him, they mostly left him alone while they waited. Maybe they could see that he was worn thin and would snap at the smallest strain. Maybe they were worried themselves. Whatever it was, Oliver didn't question it. He sat silently on the ground in the hallway, staring blankly at his feet.

The doors to the hospital wing swung open again, and Oliver immediately looked up, hoping it was the doctor or someone wheeling Tristan and Isolde to their recovery suites. It wasn't, but it was the next best thing: his friends.

Elijah glanced around wildly, and when he saw Oliver, he marched right up to him and pulled him into a rib crushing hug. "How is he?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with concern.

Oliver could remember the only time he'd ever cried in front of Elijah. They were eleven and had snuck out to go horseback riding at night. Blackie had thrown him, causing Oliver to break his shin, and Elijah had helped him limp back to the castle. Instead of laughing at Oliver's tears, he'd told him it was going to be okay and that he wasn't going to leave him. And he didn't until Oliver's leg had been set in a cast.

Hot tears stung Oliver's eyes as he gripped Elijah as tightly as he had ten years ago, and although he had yet to report on Tristan's condition, Elijah immediately declared, "It's gonna be okay. We'll get through it."

Oliver turned his back towards the Elite when he finally released his friend. While he appreciated their silent support, he wasn't prepared to let them see him cry. "He's gonna be okay," he admitted as he hastily swiped at his eyes. "Broken arm. Like the most broken it can be. But Isolde…" His nose burned as his eyes refilled themselves.

"It's gonna be okay," Elijah countered. He put a firm hand on Oliver's shoulder. "They're gonna get through it, and we are going to get super drunk at their wedding and teach their kids their first swear words and the best ways to sneak out of the palace."

Oliver laughed through his tears. "You're right," he nodded. He hesitated before he added, "Thanks, man. For…"

It didn't need said. "Always," promised Elijah.

"Your Highness?"

Dr. Groff had appeared in the hallway. "Prince Tristan and Lady Isolde are both in their recovery rooms," he announced. "The queen and king are with Prince Tristan, if you'd like to join them. Lady Isolde might take a little longer to wake up."

Oliver nodded and followed him to Tristan's room. His brother was pale, his eyes barely open, and his arm was bandaged from hand to past his shoulder. But he was alive, safe in the hospital room, and Oliver was overcome by a new wave of emotion at the sight of him.

Eadlyn and Kile sat on each side of him, but when Oliver entered the room, the younger man's eyes followed his older brother. "Tears?" croaked Tristan. "What did you tell me when I cried after I fell off my bike? "Suck it up, buttercup", right?"

Oliver had never been more relieved to hear his brother's voice. "In my defense, I was only nine," he countered. "I've matured since then."

"Oh yeah?" snorted Tristan.

"I mean, most of the development has happened in the last couple of months, but yeah."

Tristan tried to laugh but cringed. "Bruised ribs," he explained to Oliver's worried expression. "Piece of cake." He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through the pain. "Do me a favor, Ol?"

"Anything," Oliver instantly promised.

"Go sit with Is," he requested. "I don't want her to wake up alone."

Oliver nodded. "Of course."

Before he could sneak into the next-door room, he saw that Jonathan had arrived with Sara, Xander, and Alaric in tow. Oliver's dormant anger gave a brief surge at Alaric's appearance, but he remembered his mother's assertion that they had no proof the Illéas were behind the crash, so he swallowed it down. "How is he?" Sara asked worriedly.

"He's gonna be okay," smiled Oliver. "Pain in the ass as ever."

She didn't look amused by his joke. "This is all my fault," she frowned, and Oliver realized that she knew it had been Nikolai too.

"It's not," he assured her. "You can't blame yourself." She nodded, but Oliver had a feeling he hadn't done much to convince her otherwise.

He told them he'd catch up with them later and slipped away into Isolde's room. She was still sleeping, hooked up to a million little machines. Her blonde hair was matted and not in its usual glossy waves, but her face had escaped the wreckage remarkably well. There was a cut in the top corner of her forehead that was beginning to bruise as well, and her bottom lip was swollen, but most of the damage was hidden on the rest of her body.

There were numerous bruises and cuts peppering the length of her arms, and he guessed that more lied beneath the blanket that had been placed over her. He pulled a chair over beside her bed and gently took her hand. "I'm sorry," he frowned at her sleeping figure. "I'm sorry that I wasn't the one going instead, and I'm sorry that I wasn't able to keep Marid from getting to you guys."

He was certain that this was what Marid had meant at the masquerade when he'd said they hadn't begun to even play. Marid knew that it was difficult to directly injure the monarch or their heir, but everyone else… they were fair game. Tristan and Isolde had just had the misfortune of landing in the blast zone.

At some point, pure exhaustion won out, and Oliver lapsed into a fitful sleep at Isolde's bedside. His dreams were hectic and nerve-wracking, filled with the jeering faces of Marid and Nikolai. In his sleep, he saw the extent of the damage that they could inflict, all the people that he loved that they could take away.

He didn't feel rested when he jumped awake an hour and a half later. He was, however, comforted to see that Isolde's blue eyes were open. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," she smiled weakly.

"How are you feeling?" he asked anxiously.

She tried to sit up and gasped, clearly in discomfort. "Not… one hundred percent," she admitted. Fear flickered across her face. "How's Tristan?"

"He's gonna be okay," Oliver assured her, "Just a few plates, screws, and rods. He's basically got a Terminator arm."

Isolde made a face. "If that's what passes for 'okay' these days, I shudder to think about what I've been upgraded with."

"Well," chuckled Oliver, "I hope you weren't too attached to your appendix."

"Just literally," snorted Isolde. She grimaced again, the pain evident on her face.

"Let me grab a doctor," Oliver offered.

"Just let them know I'm awake," she countered, "No rush. But would you bring Kaitlyn and Mae back with you?"

"Of course," he agreed. He dashed into the hall and ordered a nurse to bring Dr. Groff to Isolde as soon as she saw him and snagged the two girls as requested.

While Oliver had managed to pull himself together, both Kaitlyn and Mae were reduced to watery messes when they were reunited with their friend. "I'm so glad you're okay!" Kaitlyn sobbed as she leaned down to hug Isolde, who promptly blanched at the contact. "Oh, god, I'm sorry!" gasped Kaitlyn.

"It's alright," Isolde assured her. "Just a little sore."

"Oh, Is, we were so worried," Mae sighed as she dropped her face into her hands. The tired stance of her body reminded Oliver that it was nearly three-thirty in the morning, merely hours since the lockdown.

"I'm okay, don't worry," Isolde declared soothingly. The door opened to reveal Dr. Groff, and Isolde turned a smile on them. "If you don't believe me, ask the good doctor."

Dr. Groff smiled at the young woman. "How are you feeling, Lady Isolde?"

"Tender," she admitted, "And a bit curious as to what happened. Oliver gave me a concerning description of 'okay.'"

"Of course," nodded the doctor. "I'd be more than happy to discuss your condition with you, but… uh, perhaps you'd like the prince and ladies to wait outside?"

Both Oliver and Mae reached for one of Isolde's hands at the same time, and she smiled. "They can stay," she decided.

Dr. Groff had been the palace doctor for the past ten years, but Oliver couldn't recall the last time he'd ever seen the man look so nervous. To the others, his tentativeness might've come across as exhaustion, but Oliver knew it was something else. He had bad news, and he didn't want to deliver it.

Oliver tried to lighten the mood. "She's still got ten fingers and toes, right, Doc?" he joked.

The doctor answered seriously, as Oliver had guessed he might. "Oh, of course," he nodded, "All of your extremities are intact and responding to stimuli well." Isolde smiled at the way the joke had gone over Dr. Groff's head.

"We had to perform an emergency appendectomy," Dr. Groff explained, "but that procedure was relatively simple. The issue…"

The hopeful look on Isolde's face vanished, and she took a moment to prepare herself for the bad news. "Go ahead, doctor."

"The trauma to your appendix was caused by a piece of shrapnel from the crash that lodged in your lower abdomen," Dr. Groff explained, "However, it also caused substantial internal bleeding, which we eventually traced to your uterus and the right side of your reproductive tract, specifically the ovary and fallopian tube."

The four were all silent as they digested this news. "But you fixed it?" asked Oliver finally. "The bleeding?"

"Yes," nodded Dr. Groff, "But… not all damage can be repaired. Between the initial trauma and the subsequent scar tissue…"

"No." Isolde's face had crumpled, and Kaitlyn and Mae obviously knew something that Oliver didn't, because they immediately tried to comfort her. "No, no, no."

"I don't…" Oliver turned to Dr. Groff, perplexed. "What does that mean?"

The doctor's jaw tensed. "It won't be possible any longer for Lady Isolde to have children." There was a long pause before he added, "I'm so sorry, but as you know, I have to tell the queen as well."

"Of course." Isolde's face was stony, her eyes quickly welling with tears. The doctor disappeared, and Oliver turned to his future sister.

"It's going to be okay," he declared, giving her hand a squeeze. "There are… other ways, and it's not like it's going to change Tristan's mind or anything."

"Not Tristan's," nodded Isolde, "But it does change things. We were engaged with your mother's approval. But a princess's job is to have children, to add security to the Schreave line." The first tear fell, opening a flood gate. Mae and Kaitlyn clung to her, their own faces devastated for their friend. "We'd already talked about how many we wanted and n-names and—" She broke off, struggling for breath through the sobs.

Oliver thought of how Elijah had declared they would teach his future nieces and nephews how to swear and sneak out just hours ago.

There would never be nieces and nephews now. Not from Tristan and Isolde, at least.

A commotion in the hallway captured Oliver's attention, although it went unnoticed by the girls who were still trying to calm Isolde. Unsure of how he could help, he retreated towards the door to see what was going on outside.

Before he could reach the door though, it swung open, nearly hitting him in the process. Tristan limped into the room, using his good arm to lean heavily on the pole that held his IV and heart monitor. As soon as he saw his devastated fiancée, the heartbreak on his own face disappeared and was replaced with resolve.

He limped to Isolde's bed, taking a seat on the edge. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice brittle and strong at the same time, "This changes nothing."

"It changes everything," she countered, "I can't—"

"You can still make me happier than anyone else in the world," he assured her. "And I won't let that go for anything." He took her hand, gripping it fiercely.

She struggled to even her breathing before she tried to ask, "What-what if—"

But the typically polite, sedate Tristan cut her off. "There is no what if," he proclaimed, "Isolde, I love you. Haven't you realized that I would defy the world for you yet?"

The attempt at regaining her self-composure was abandoned as Isolde dissolved into tears again. Tristan leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, whispering something to her that Oliver couldn't hear. It felt more intimate than a kiss, and Mae and Kaitlyn joined him as he slipped out of the room.

His parents were standing in the hallway looking exhausted. "You're not gonna…" Oliver frowned. "I mean, Isolde's predicament…"

"No," Eadlyn answered. A wry smile tugged at her face as she added, "Tristan already promised he'd never forgive me if I tried and would marry her regardless anyway."

He should have been relieved by his mother's assurance, but Oliver was angry again. He thought back to when he'd joked with Isolde about being the fun uncle at the fountain before their engagement was announced. It had only been a joke for the moment. But when they were older, ready for kids, he'd fully intended to be the uncle they came to when they needed to smile or couldn't confide in their parents.

And now they simply would never be.

There was a fury bubbling in the pits of his stomach at the injustice. The fact that he had no one to hold responsible made everything feel that much worse.

"Your Highness." A maid had appeared at his elbow. "You have a letter. They said it was urgent."

It seemed ridiculous that something like a letter could be urgent considering everything that had happened that night, but Oliver accepted it and thanked her. He pulled the thick stationary from inside the envelope and unfolded it.

 _My condolences for your loss. Your move. -M.I._

And then three things happened very quickly.

First, Oliver's fingers closed around the letter, crumpling the elegant stationary. Second, all the fear, sadness, and frustration erupted, combined into a geyser of unbridled rage that tensed his muscles and made him feel light headed. Third, he crossed the lobby of the hospital wing and took all his indignation out on the only Illéa in his reach.

He grabbed Alaric by the lapels of his jacket and dragged him away from where he'd been talking to Kaitlyn. Alaric's eyes widened in shock, and Kaitlyn gasped, "Oliver, what are you doing?"

He threw open the door to Dr. Groff's office, and as soon as he'd slammed the door shut, he shoved Alaric against the wall with more ferocity than he had used against Jonathan.

"Did you know about this?" Oliver demanded, his voice gruff and authoritative.

"N-no, of course not, Oliver!" Alaric insisted. "How could you even—"

Oliver released him, only to throw the letter at him. "Read it!" he barked.

Alaric tentatively bent to collect the crinkled parchment. His face waned when he read the brief message. "Oliver, you know—"

It wasn't a random accident, Marid's letter had confirmed that. There was no way he'd have been able to find out and send a handwritten letter in less than four hours. The media wasn't even reporting that Tristan and Isolde were the ones involved in the crash.

Besides, he'd tauntingly sent condolences. He'd intended for someone to die.

But Oliver still couldn't punish anyone. There were a million "M.I."s in Illéa, and he had a feeling that even if he tried to extradite Marid from Russia, Regan would fight him. He had no one to hold responsible.

Except for Alaric.

"When's the last time you talked to your father?" Oliver demanded.

Alaric's face blanched. "He… he sent me a letter after he left. But he didn't say anything about this, I swear!"

The anger materialized in the form of dots in front of Oliver's eyes. "You didn't think that it was worth telling me?" he roared. "God, I was so stupid! I let you into my home, into my council!"

There was panic in Alaric's face. "Oliver, you promised," he began softly, "You said in Likely that you wouldn't hold me responsible for anything Marid or Regan did—"

"Do you know what he's done to my brother?" raged Oliver.

Alaric looked pained. "You know I care about Tristan and Isolde," he tried.

"Don't!" Oliver lashed out, knocking a lamp off Dr. Groff's desk. "Don't try to pretend that you care about my family at all! The Illéas are poison, and I was stupid to think that we could have any sort of partnership, friendship—"

"We _are_ friends," Alaric insisted, "Saying that we aren't doesn't change that—"

The rage ebbed away slightly. Yes, they had been friends. Just like he had loved Regan once upon a time. He'd been tricked and hurt by the Illéas too many times.

When Oliver spoke, it wasn't with the fierce outrage that had fueled him previously. Instead, it was a quiet, disconcerting calm. "We were," he admitted, "But I've learned my lesson. This is the last time an Illéa will hurt someone I love."

"You're going to leave, Alaric," Oliver declared, "You're going to leave St. Sebastian's and Angeles all together. You're going to go back to Likely, and you're going to stay there. No matter how this Selection ends, you're going to leave Kaitlyn alone. And the Illéa name is going to die with you."

There was a long moment as the penance of his family's mistakes settled on Alaric. His face had drained of the color as Oliver continued with his list of demands, and at the mention of Kaitlyn, the pain in his eyes was evident. Oliver realized as he watched the blue eyes become despondent that his instincts had been right: Alaric had lied every time Oliver had questioned the depth of his feelings for Kaitlyn.

If he'd lied about that, what else had he lied about?

Alaric tried one more time. "Oliver, I know that this has been an emotional night, but please think about this—"

"If you don't leave now, I'll have Jonathan remove you," Oliver asserted icily.

Realizing what a lost cause it was, Alaric's face darkened. "What about the promise you made in Likely? You _know_ this isn't fair."

Had either of their lives ever really been fair, though? "Not fair is being subjected to the cruelty of a fifty-year-old man who can't deal with the fact that his great-grandfather didn't want to be king and gave it up," Oliver countered. "Not fair is planning for your life with your fiancée, imagining your children, and then having them ripped from your future."

He had to grit his teeth together to ignore the stinging burn of the emotion in his nose. "Not fair is trusting someone," he continued, "only for them to be turn out to be exactly who you were afraid they were."

Alaric's eyes were full of tears, and for a moment, Oliver wanted to let him explain. He wanted to hear him say that he had no idea what Marid was planning, that he didn't care about Kaitlyn more deeply than he'd let on, that he had an idea of how to make things better.

But wrath won out, and instead, he sneered, "Get out."

Alaric turned towards the door but paused with his hand on the doorknob. "For what it's worth," he declared in a despairing voice, "I'm sorry for any pain that my family has caused yours. And I understand why you couldn't keep your promise, and… I-I forgive you." Then, he opened the door and made his way from the hospital wing.

"Alaric?" Kaitlyn's brow furrowed at his retreating figure, even further confused when he heard her call after him. "Alaric!"

She spun on Oliver when he stepped out of the office, the tear tracks already evident on her cheeks. "What did you do?" she demanded. Margaery reached out to put a reassuring hand on Kaitlyn's shoulder, but the smaller girl shook her off. "What did you _do_?" she demanded, stepping closer to Oliver.

"What needed to be done," he responded coolly. But already, the guilt was beginning to blossom underneath all the anger.

She looked shocked but turned determinedly towards the door, as though she was about to go after Alaric. The ugly, jealous monster living inside Oliver's chest reared its head, and before he could stop himself, he declared, "If you go after him, don't come back."

Kaitlyn froze mid-step. The confliction was obvious in her body language, but after a minute, she slowly turned towards him, her face disbelieving. "What about what you promised him in Likely?" she asked. She sounded more disappointed than angry, until Oliver failed to respond. "What about what you promised?" she yelled, reaching forward with both hands to push him.

In an instant, Jonathan had her hands behind her back, and Kaitlyn's face twisted in pain. Jonathan looked no happier about having to subdue her, but the fact of the matter was that Oliver was his job, and Jonathan was on duty.

"Stop," ordered Oliver. "Let her go."

The pain didn't disappear when Jonathan released her. If anything, Kaitlyn looked more agonized than ever, putting a hand over her mouth to repress the sobs that were shaking her small shoulders. Mae and Margaery, both avoiding Oliver's face, hurried forward to each of her sides and quickly led her from the hospital wing. Once she was away from Oliver, she released the tears she'd been unwilling to shed in front of him, and before the door swung shut behind the trio, he heard her sob, "He promised."

"Are you alright?" Jonathan frowned at Oliver.

"I will be," Oliver muttered before he swept past him. But even as he said it, he didn't quite believe himself.

Somehow, in less than four hours, everything had fallen apart.


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year! We are officially in single digits until the end of the story! Thank you so much for all of the responses to the last chapter, and I'm sorry to everyone who felt personally victimized. Hopefully this chapter offers you _some_ comfort?

* * *

Time never passed as slowly as it did in the aftermath of the crash. Every hour dragged by as Oliver sat in the stuffed armchair of the larger room that Tristan and Isolde had been moved to so Tristan would stop sneaking out to see his fiancé. There were at least a million things that needed his attention, but he couldn't bring himself to leave them, not just yet.

He'd heard that his mother had a video conference with Tsar Anatoly, but since he knew the forgiving stance that she was taking on the incident, he'd had no desire to be present. If he'd even caught a glimpse of Nikolai or Marid, he would've lost it anyway.

Shortly after breakfast, Jonathan reported that Alaric had left Angeles. His anger somewhat abated but not yet vanished, Oliver felt a momentarily flicker of guilt at the news. His temper had always been something he'd struggled with, not too unlike Nikolai he'd realized with a wave of shame.

Any remorse quickly disappeared when Isolde dissolved into a fresh flood of tears. Even with all the consolation and support that Tristan and Oliver provided throughout the day, she sporadically gave in to the heartbreak. When Oliver asked the doctor if there was something they could do medically to ease her sorrow, he'd been unhelpfully informed that the only prescription to be offered was time.

Sometime around lunch, when Tristan and Isolde had drifted off to sleep, squeezed together in her hospital bed even though Tristan's was only a few feet away now, Oliver decided to take a break from the hospital wing. His first stop was to grab a sandwich and coffee from the kitchen, and he realized that news of his angry dismissal of Alaric must have made rounds around the castle, because the staff worked quickly and silently under his watch, none of the easy smiles that usually greeted him present.

Armed with food and caffeine, his second stop was to his bedroom. He was only somewhat surprised when he found Xander, Elijah, Everly, and Sara were all on the couch with grim expressions on their faces. He had a feeling Jonathan would have been present too, if he wasn't resolutely stationed outside Tristan and Isolde's hospital room.

"How are they?" Elijah asked.

"The same," shrugged Oliver. He stood in the hallway as he chewed the sandwich, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. "What time is it?"

"Noon," answered Xander.

Only twelve hours since he'd been ushered into the saferoom by Jonathan. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I have so much to do today."

"Can we help?" Xander asked.

Oliver chuckled. "Unfortunately, no," he sighed. "I have tickets to a show with Rosalie tonight that she's really excited about, and I need to eliminate someone before this goes any further."

"I'm sure Rosalie wouldn't mind if you had to reschedule," Sara pointed out, "She seems very sweet."

"And you can always just send a card and some flowers to eliminate someone," shrugged Elijah. "I don't think they'd blame you given the circumstances."

"They're my Elite," countered Oliver, "I'm not sending anyone home with a note. And I'm not canceling on a Christmas play. What kind of asshole does that?" He shoved the rest of sandwich into his mouth and crossed the room to his study.

The four seated on the couch exchanged confused looks before they followed him into the office. "What are you doing?" Sara asked from the doorway.

Oliver barely glanced up from his computer. "Uh… working?"

There were more perplexed expressions that he pretended to ignore. "Why don't you take a break?" suggested Elijah. "Have you slept at all since this morning?"

"I'm okay," Oliver deflected. "Oh, God, do I really have twenty-three messages?" he sighed as he glanced at the phone on his desk.

"Most of them are probably people calling to inquire about your brother," pointed out Sara, "Monarchs would probably call for your mother, but I'm sure a lot of your peers like Tae or Raphael have called you directly."

She was probably right. Oliver sighed and tried to organize his thoughts. His priority was the elimination. The crash had opened his eyes and made him realize some things that he'd been trying to avoid. He wanted what Tristan and Isolde had. Their first thoughts had been for each other once they'd woken up, and even now, facing an enormous loss, they were going to get through it because of each other. He'd realized there were some girls that he didn't have that potential with.

He didn't have one girl to eliminate. No, he had three.

At the top of his list was also checking on Kaitlyn. While he stood by the decisions that he'd made in regards to Alaric, he did regret the way that he'd responded to her. He wished he would've made it clear to Jonathan not to restrain any of the Selected under any circumstances and wished that he would've let her say goodbye to Alaric. Just because Alaric had betrayed his trust didn't mean that Kaitlyn would've.

Finally, since Angeles was on high alert after the crash, he had to make sure that everything was in order for his date with Rosalie. It meant taking more security than just Jonathan, having the entire route and building searched and monitored, and having all the attendees put through heightened security as well.

If he wasn't exhausted before, thinking about the day that he had ahead of him made Oliver want to fall face first into his pillows. He glanced around at his friends. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let them help. "Hey, Elijah, you ready for your first assignment as Lord Chamberlain?"

Elijah's jaw dropped came unhinged, but Everly placed a reassuring hand on his back and sent him a smile. "Uh, yeah," he nodded, taking her hand. "Whatever you need man."

"It's not too bad," Oliver assured him, "I just need you to listen to all the calls. Return any that are royals or high ranking government officials calling that are already aware of Tristan and Isolde's condition. Ignore any media inquests. I'll let my mother deal with those."

"What if…" Elijah frowned. "What if Nikolai or Marid called?"

Oliver's hands tightened into fists. "Leave those for me. I don't think even they would be that stupid though."

He turned to Sara. "Can you check with Jonathan about security measures for tonight?" She immediately agreed and disappeared.

The real challenges were things that only Oliver could handle himself. He made his way to the Selected's floor, although he was unsure of who he was looking for.

He started with Rosalie, because in addition to being the least stressful on the list people he needed to speak with, he also found that she had an unerringly comforting presence. A maid answered and beckoned him into the room. Rosalie was seated at her desk—on the phone with her father, he was told—but when she saw Oliver, she gave one more assurance that she was alright and told her father she would call him later.

She was looking at him with the same tentative gaze that he'd been regarded with in the kitchen. Oliver awkwardly smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," she replied, taking a hesitant step towards him. "How-how are you?"

"Fine," he nodded briefly, "I was actually here to talk to you about the play tonight."

"I completely understand if we have to reschedule," she offered before he had a chance to add any further explanation.

"Oh." Oliver frowned. "I was actually coming to tell you that I still wanted to go, as long as you did."

Rosalie chewed her bottom lip, her expression anxious. "Is that a good idea after… everything?"

Oliver didn't want to think of the expansive territory that 'everything' covered at the moment. Instead, he shrugged. "I don't want to cancel our plans because of…" He didn't know how to explain it. It wasn't that he didn't want to sit in the hospital wing with Tristan and Isolde. He did and likely would once he returned from the date.

It was more that he didn't want to feel like Nikolai and Marid had control over his life. They'd been able to enormously affect Tristan and Isolde's future and cause a rift between himself and Alaric that might have enormously impacted his relationship with Kaitlyn as well. He wouldn't give them anything else.

"I know you don't _want_ to," Rosalie assured him, "but… uh… maybe you _need_ to. Maybe _I_ need you to."

When Oliver turned a confused face towards her, Rosalie explained, "Look, this has all been incredibly scary. I can't imagine how you're probably feeling, but I know… well, personally I'm a little rattled. I thought that if there was anywhere in Illéa that was safe, it'd be the palace with the royal family. So, lockdown and seeing Tristan and Isolde hurt… it's a lot. If we go tonight, I'll just be worrying. About you, about me, about everything. So maybe we should reschedule."

It didn't take long for Oliver to feel bad. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "I didn't think about how all of this has made you guys feel."

"And you shouldn't," countered Rosalie, "Not right now at least. You have a lot more to worry about. We'll be okay. For now, just focus on your family."

He nodded. "I promise I'll make this play up to you though."

"I know you will," she smiled. She reached out to squeeze his hand in a gesture that Oliver was oddly comforted by. Before she released him, she hesitantly added, "You know, Oliver… it's okay to not be okay though."

"Huh?"

As though she would lose her nerve if she didn't get it all out at once, Rosalie explained herself in a rush. "It's just… this was a really big deal. And you have a lot to deal with because of it. And we all know what happened with Alaric and everything, and even if you deny it, I know you guys were friends. So, it's okay if you're not okay. You don't always have to be strong. It's okay for you to need some time or to feel your feelings."

"Feel my feelings," he mused. It was an interesting thought. "Uh… thanks."

He found himself equally encouraged and disappointed by his visit with Rosalie. While she hadn't been able to provide the return to normalcy that he'd been hoping for, it was sort of nice to see that she understood the enormous impact that the day had had on him. Even if he was desperately still trying to be okay, he was fighting against a lot.

As he raised his hand to knock on Kaitlyn's door, he hoped that she understood half as well as Rosalie.

He realized it was a lot to hope for when a long pause followed his knock. A moment later, the door opened, and Mae slipped from the room into the hallway. She didn't invite him in but instead pulled the door shut behind her. There were no pleasantries, only an apologetic look on Mae's face. "Um… she doesn't want to see you."

A small part of him might've expected it, but the rest of him felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. "What?"

Mae cringed. "Oliver, she's just upset right now."

" _She's_ upset?" he repeated.

"Yes," snapped Mae, "He was her best friend."

"Oh, I'm sure they were great _friends_ —"

"Stop it," Mae ordered. Her voice sounded exhausted but also strained, like she was trying to navigate the thin ledge of a cliff on her tiptoes with danger on each side. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

Oliver's mouth fell open. "Yes!" he insisted. "It matters to me!"

"I don't know how she felt," countered Mae, "but she chose you. For now."

This had a sobering effect on Oliver, his anger momentarily abated. "For now?"

While the Selection was, at its core, a contest between the women for the prince's heart, there had never been any sort of competitiveness between Mae and Kaitlyn, and the former did not seem even the slightest bit happy about the possibility of her friend leaving the palace. "I don't know if she can stay."

"What?"

There was a sad sort of pity in Mae's vibrant eyes when she finally met his gaze, although Oliver suspected it was more for Kaitlyn than himself. "Did you really promise Alaric that you wouldn't hold anything that Marid or Regan did against him?"

The guilt lapped at him once more, and for a moment, he was tempted to lie. He didn't want to see Mae's face crumple in disappointment the way that Kaitlyn's had when she'd realized what he'd done. "Yes," he admitted.

Mae only sighed.

"Look… I'm not proud of it," acknowledged Oliver, "but because of my position, I'm not always going to be able to keep all of my promises." He sighed bitterly before he added, "It was a promise I shouldn't have made in the first place."

He didn't want to look at her, because how could her face not be disappointed by something like that, but when he finally chanced it, it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Pitying still, which wasn't his favorite emotion to be the subject of, but better than disappointed. As always, she'd seemed to understand more than he had expected. "I know that," Mae nodded, "I'm just not sure that's something that someone like Kaitlyn can reconcile, especially when it hurt someone that she cares about so much."

"Can… can you just tell her that I'm sorry she got hurt?" Oliver finally tried. "That's something I've wanted to avoid if possible for all of you."

"I'll tell her," Mae nodded. "But… just so you know, Oliver, you can't protect everyone. Life's not about getting hurt. It's…" She paused and smiled, as though remembering something. "It's about limping down the hall in a hospital gown that barely covers your ass to be with the people you love."

Oliver laughed, thinking of the way Tristan had burst into Isolde's earlier in the morning. "I'll keep that in mind," he decided. "Thank you."

Still mulling over Mae's words, he'd prepared himself to make the first elimination when he noticed Sara at the top of the stairs to the Elite's floor. "There you are," she sighed, breathless. "I've been looking all over for you."

Her hurriedness sent his stomach into instant knots. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded. "Tristan and Isolde were asking for you."

When Oliver walked into their shared hospital room, the knots tightened upon seeing his parents, Celine, and Isolde's mother and father already present. He might not have been concerned by the appearance of Mr. Havens, as Isolde was close with her father, but she had a more difficult relationship with her mother, so Mrs. Havens' presence sent Oliver's nerves into another frenzy.

But Tristan and Isolde looked overjoyed. "There you are," Isolde beamed. She and Tristan were propped up in the same bed, and although her eyes were still rimmed with red, she looked happier than Oliver would have thought possible considering the situation.

"We have something important that we wanted to tell you guys," Tristan declared. Sara started to slip towards the door, as though she felt intrusive, but Oliver grabbed her hand for reassurance, a little afraid of why they'd been gathered for an announcement.

The two battered blondes exchanged excited looks with each other. "We want to get married," Tristan announced.

"Uh… yes, we were all quite aware of this development, darling," Eadlyn noted with a laugh. "The engagement ring and all of the planning gave it away."

"Not in February," countered Isolde. "We want to get married tomorrow."

Oliver was shocked his mother's eyes didn't pop out of her head. " _Tomorrow_?"

Tristan quickly jumped in, his eighteen years of experience having well prepared him for dealing with Eadlyn. "Planning is exhausting," he declared, "and we both kind of hate it. We didn't need an epic royal wedding before the crash, and we don't want one now. We just want it to be official, to be able to draw the line that marks the start of our lives together."

There was a shocked sort of laugh from Mrs. Havens. "Isolde, honey, would you even be able to walk down an aisle?"

"Yes," declared Isolde, her eyes narrowed in a glare. "I mean, I won't be dancing the night away or anything, but we just want something small. Prince Ahren and his family are arriving once the flight ban is lifted for Christmas anyway, so we figured that everyone that matters will be here. We can just have Alaric perform a small ceremony and then maybe have a dinner."

Oliver frowned uncomfortably as he realized he'd have to break the news to Tristan and Isolde about Alaric eventually, but for the moment, he didn't want to rain on their parade. "I think it's a great idea," he offered. "The palace is already decorated for Christmas, which is basically as good as a wedding."

Eadlyn's eyes bulged in Oliver's direction, like she couldn't believe he was supporting this. "Even so, Isolde, darling, you don't have a dress—"

"I have one," she countered, "Hale had finished my reception dress. I can just wear it instead of the ceremony dress we'd designed."

Mrs. Havens frowned. "Wouldn't you like to look more… put together, dear?"

"There's makeup," Isolde retorted. She sounded frustrated, and Oliver wasn't surprised when she tightened her hands into fists, the movement making her cringe in response. "Look, we are doing this whether we have to do it in the hospital chapel with just Alaric. We would love for you to all be there and to be supportive, but honestly, this is what we want." Tristan put his uninjured arm around her shoulders and nodded his agreement.

Kile was the one to break the silence. "Of course we're all going to be there," he beamed, "And twenty-four hours is plenty of time to plan a wedding. I mean, have you seen all of the control freaks that live here?" Isolde giggled in relief, and Tristan shot his father an appreciative look. Kile put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Isn't that right, Eady?"

Oliver was surprised when his mother's face broke into a genuine smile, not a hint of forcedness behind it. "Of course," she agreed. "Don't you two worry about a thing. We'll take care of everything."

It turned out that she really meant everything. Although the palace had been hectic in preparation for Christmas anyway, the announcement of the last-minute nuptials had sent it into overdrive. Oliver didn't have a chance to think about the nagging question that people kept asking him—the dreaded "are you okay"—because he had a to-do list a mile long.

He'd told Tristan privately about what had happened with Alaric and was surprised when his brother had reserved any judgment. "You did what you thought you had to," Tristan had shrugged. "As long as you can get another priest before tomorrow night, I'm not going to lecture you about it." So, Oliver had called over to St. Sebastian's and regardless of how they felt about his dismissal of the young Illéa, they'd agreed to send someone to marry Tristan and Isolde the following day.

If he slept at all before the evening of December twenty-third, it was miniscule. He'd overseen the flowers, the decoration of the chapel and the adjacent ballroom where the dinner would be held, and the menu. There wasn't a detail that escaped his notice, as he was determined to make the night everything they could possibly want. He was partially motivated by guilt and the knowledge that Marid had struck out at them because of him but also by a desire to make them forget the amazing loss that they'd suffered.

He fueled himself with a combination of coffee and energy drinks and, as a result, was more jittery than Tristan as they gathered in Kile and Eadlyn's room to get ready. "Not nervous at all?" Oliver asked as he watched Hale stitch a sleeve up over Tristan's enormous cast. It stretched from shoulder to hand and although it would be supported in a sling anyway, Tristan refused to allow them to simply cut off before the cast. Instead, Hale and Samantha had decided to just stitch his jacket over the cumbersome cast to achieve the most dignified look possible.

"Not at all," confirmed Tristan, and Oliver believed him. His brother looked calm as he relaxed on Tristan's bed while Hale worked. "You've been running around like a chicken with your head cut off, so I figured that must mean that everything's been taken care of."

"Here's hoping," Oliver laughed, "I mean, I did forget to even tell the rest of the Elite until this morning."

"Good thing the maids work fast," joked Hale.

Kile walked into the room with several elaborate boxes in his arms. "Which crown, Tris?" he asked. "You've got your pick of the lot today."

"Well, then I'll definitely be wearing Oliver's favorite," smirked his younger brother. Oliver pretended to roll his eyes, but truthfully, he didn't mind. After the crash when he'd momentarily considered the possibility of life without his brother, the little things that Tristan did that irritated him, like stealing his favorite cufflinks or crowns or being taller than him, didn't bother Oliver at all anymore. He didn't tell his brother though, as it would surely come as a disappointment to the younger prince.

"Oh, that reminds me, Ol," Tristan remarked. "Can you take Is that box on dad's desk?"

"On it," Oliver declared. While Tristan and Isolde had originally intended to have a very full bridal party, the immediacy of the wedding had changed this arrangement, with only Oliver and Celine serving as maid of honor and best man, which meant that all duties also fell on their shoulders as well.

Isolde was getting ready with his mother and sister in Celine's room. She wasn't traipsing about quite as easily as Tristan as her injuries had been more serious, but she looked invigorated by her impending nuptials as she sat in front of the mirror while a maid put the finishing touches on her hair. "Wow," Oliver remarked when he was granted entry into the room.

Isolde caught his gaze and beamed as she slowly got to her feet. "What do you think?" she asked. She sounded anxious, although of a more excited variety rather than fearful.

"You look incredible," he assured her. He'd never expected Isolde to subscribe to the fairytale princess type of bride, despite the pressure of Oliver's mother and grandmother, since she'd always been a little more fashion forward. Her dress had long, lace sleeves that hid most of the bruises that she'd sustained in the crash, and the lace bodice gave way to a long, silk skirt that clung to her tall, slender body and pooled near her feat. Her icy blonde hair was gently curled, pushed over her right shoulder to conceal a cut on the right side of her face, but her soft, natural makeup concealed any of the discoloration from the bruises. She looked like her usual self, the hesitation in her movement the only sign that she was in any pain.

"Oh, this is for you," he remarked, holding out the box. "From Tristan."

Isolde's face lit up at the mention of her soon-to-be-husband. She opened the box to reveal a pair of sapphire teardrop earrings encircled with diamonds. As she read the accompanying note aloud, her happiness was practically tangible. "'In case you need something blue and just a little reminder of how much I love you.'" Oliver couldn't even roll his eyes at Tristan's cheesiness.

"He has great taste," Eadlyn complimented. "Incidentally, they match something I wanted to lend you perfectly."

Isolde looked more surprised at this development than Tristan's gift. Eadlyn led her back to her seat and placed a larger box in her lap. From an encasement of velvet, Isolde lifted a diamond and sapphire tiara. It had been designed for an old British queen by her husband some time ago and was one of Eadlyn's favorites. Oliver wasn't sure that he'd ever seen anyone other than his mother wear it, as she was so fond of it that it was rarely liberated from the vault.

"May I?" Eadlyn asked tentatively. Isolde held the tiara out to her, and Eadlyn gently settled it on the blonde hair. "Perfect," she remarked, smiling at Isolde in the mirror.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," beamed Isolde.

"Mom or Eadlyn will do," the queen countered. She gave Isolde's shoulders a gentle squeeze, and Oliver thought that Isolde's eyes looked a little watery but decided not to comment on it.

"You look like such a princess!" squealed Celine. "Oh, I can't wait until I get to get married."

"And that's my cue to leave," decided Oliver to a chorus of laughter. "I'll see you guys when it's game time."

There'd been a small amount of invitations extended. Their French family was present, along with Eadlyn's brothers, Oliver's grandparents, the Elite, and a few friends like Xander and Elijah. It was a small wedding by regular standard, let alone royal ones, but Oliver had spared no extravagance. The chapel had been stuffed with Christmas trees, twinkling lights, and festive red flowers. When Tristan and Oliver took their places at the altar, his brother nudged him with his elbow. "Good job."

"Only the best for you two," Oliver declared. His eyes swept over the small group of people in the front couple of rows of pews. The Elite were all present, dressed in festive colored gowns. He'd wondered whether Kaitlyn would come, since it had been an invitation rather than a summons, but she was dutifully seated between Mae and Margaery. He tried to catch her eye and smile at her, but when Mae pointed out something near where he and Tristan were standing, her eyes glossed over him, like she hadn't even noticed he was present.

Around seven thirty, the pianist in the back of the chapel began to play the wedding march, and it felt like there was a collective breath taken by the guests as they turned towards the doors. Celine appeared in her gold bridesmaid dress, a small bouquet of red flowers clutched in her hands. She made her way down the aisle, sticking her tongue out at her older brothers as she took her place on the left side of the altar.

Then, Isolde appeared with her father. There wasn't a single sign of pain as she glided towards Tristan, who hadn't exhaled once since he'd seen her. Mr. Havens handed her off to the prince, a little awkwardly since Tristan only had one hand to offer her. It didn't seem like she minded at all, as the most radiant smile Oliver had ever seen lit up her face.

Instead of the traditional ceremony that would normally accompany a royal wedding, the process had been curtailed somewhat since standing for long periods of time was difficult for Isolde. But the brevity didn't seem to impact the observers much, as there were more than a few sniffles abound. Despite the short notice, Tristan and Isolde had written their own vows.

Tristan delivered his vow first. "Sometimes, being born a prince means that your life doesn't necessarily feel like your own. There's a lot of expectations that go along with it and a lot of duties. And before I met you, I was okay with that. I knew what my life was going to be like, and I was okay with it. I didn't know that I was being complacent until you opened my eyes. It was like I'd spent my life looking at the world through grey tinted glasses, and with you, everything was technicolor. From the minute that I saw you in the Women's Room with that weird tinfoil in your hair, I was hooked."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to spend enough time around you. Before I met you, I wasn't a big believer in fate. But now, I don't know how I couldn't. You're my soulmate, the person that I didn't even know I've been looking for my whole life. As someone who comes from a pretty privileged background, you've been the biggest blessing in my life. Sometimes it feels surreal that you decided to let me spend the rest of forever loving you, but I promise that I'll never make you regret it and will devote every day to making the most of our life together."

When it was Isolde's turn, she had to choke back the tears that Tristan's speech had evoked. "I thought that I came to the palace because I've always cared about other people. From the time that I started working in the Governor's office, I knew that public service was something that I felt passionate about, and when I heard about the Selection, I thought that it was that drive that led me here. And then you walked into the room on the very first day—yes, embarrassingly while I was getting highlights—and I knew that I had been wrong."

" _You_ are the reason that I came here, even if I didn't know it. There was something about you that drew me in from the minute I met you, and it was the biggest, scariest thing I've ever known. I tried to fight it and run from it. And without you, I might've been successful. Love is scary, especially when it defies all sorts of rules and expectations. But you made me strong enough to stop trying to run away from that scary thing. Every day, you make me think that I couldn't possibly be happier, and then you blow that threshold out of the water. No matter what's thrown at us, I know that we'll get through it, because we'll be together. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life and whatever comes after with the kindest, funniest, smartest, most handsome person on this earth."

After that, Oliver and Celine handed the wedding bands to the couple, and a moment later, Prince Tristan and Princess Isolde were formally announced for the first time ever. When Oliver joined the applause of the guests, he had to blink away a happiness that was blurring his vision slightly.

While the reception wasn't as large as it would've been under different circumstances, they'd still planned a dinner and small celebration. Tristan and Isolde shared their first dance to a slowed down version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," before they settled down at one of the tables. However, they didn't seem disappointed by their distance from the party. Oliver wasn't sure if they even noticed, as the new husband and wife seemed to be in their own little world.

Oliver, on the other hand, was quickly wrapped up with the Elite. He'd kept an eye on Kaitlyn throughout dinner, hoping that he'd be able to catch her alone at some point, but it was like the girls had planned to avoid such a situation. She was never alone—until Oliver enlisted the help of Elijah and Everly to waylay Margaery and Mae, who were most frequent companions.

As Mae sent him a 'don't-you-dare' look from across the ballroom where she was stuck with Elijah, Oliver quickly made his way towards Kaitlyn. She realized he was approaching her too late to escape, and Oliver pretended not to see the grimace on her face as he joined her. "Hey," he grinned, desperately searching for he comfortable familiarity that he usually felt around Kaitlyn.

"Hi," she responded. Her face was blank, her voice unenthused, and it felt like her eyes had barely registered him.

Oliver tried to tell himself he was reading too far into it. "Do you want to dance?' he suggested. There was no way she could look as miserable while dancing.

She paused, as though searching for a way to decline, but when she came upon nothing, she gave a shrug of her shoulders and stood. Oliver led her to the dance floor, noticing the way that her hand felt limp in his.

Her body felt stiff, and she didn't stand as close to him as she usually did. She was also a lot less careful with the medical boot on her foot and accidentally—he hoped—stomped on his Italian leather dress shoes more than once.

As their dance ticked away in silence, he finally steeled himself enough to speak. "Kaitlyn."

"Can we please just dance?" she countered. Her eyes were focused on a spot beyond his left shoulder so that to an observer, it would look like she was meeting his gaze, while Oliver could only see the sadness in her red rimmed eyes.

"No," he decided, "Look… I'm sorry I hurt you, but—"

" _Me?_ " she demanded, her eyes snapping to his face. The sadness disappeared, replaced instead with a fiery outrage. "You're sorry for what you did to _me_? Do you know I've called Alaric twenty times, and he won't answer a single call? I don't know if he's even made it to Likely safely. He's completely alone, and I didn't even get to say goodbye to him." She pressed her lips firmly together as tears welled in her eyes.

He didn't know what to say, what there even was to say. For better or for worse, before he could think of anything to say, a small blonde figure appeared at his side. "Mind if I steal him away?" Gabi asked brightly.

Kaitlyn instantly tore her arms away from Oliver. "He's all yours," she declared, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

Gabi took up Kaitlyn's vacated position cheerfully. "Is she okay?" she asked with a glance after Kaitlyn.

"Uh…" Oliver was unsure of what to say. He followed Kaitlyn as she brushed off Mae and Isolde, instead walking right out of the ballroom.

But Gabi quickly seemed to forget the other girl's distress. "Wasn't it such a beautiful wedding?" she sighed. "Of course, poor Isolde, not being able to do much at your own wedding. But she still looks divine! Did you see that crown that your mother leant her? Oh, my Lord, what I wouldn't do for one of those!"

Her rambling brought Oliver back to attention. "Gabi…" he frowned. "I need to talk to you."

"That sounds ominous," she giggled. "I hope about good things."

Oliver couldn't bring himself to respond for a minute. It wasn't a conversation he ever looked forward to having. "Look, I don't think—"

Gabi immediately dropped their dance posture. " _What_?"

She looked stunned, and Oliver took her elbow to lead her into the hallway, uneager to make a scene at his brother's wedding. "I don't understand," Gabi frowned, her eyes welled with tears, "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," he assured her. He took a seat on a bench in the hall, but Gabi didn't join him, instead keeping her distance as she struggled to process the information. "When we were in Zuni, I just realized that we don't… click."

"What are you talking about?" frowned Gabi. "I thought we had a great time in Zuni."

"And that's the problem," Oliver declared. "For me, it was weird and kind of uncomfortable."

This was the wrong thing to say apparently. Too late he realized she might find it embarrassing, and this led to a somewhat defensive reaction. "Well, why didn't you tell me that when we got back?" she demanded. "Why did you invite me to your brother's wedding, of all things, instead of just telling me directly?"

"In case you forgot, I was a little distracted by a plane crash that occurred pretty soon after we got back," he snapped. Gabi looked ashamed at this reminder, and Oliver took a deep breath, trying to temper his reaction. "Look, I'm sorry if I've hurt you. Believe me, that's the last thing I ever wanted. But I want something like Tristan and Isolde have, and I think you do too. And I don't think we're going to find that together. I thought this was the fairest time to tell you, so you'd at least have the chance spend the holiday with your family."

After a moment of thought, Gabi gave a weak nod. "So… should I just… leave?"

"Of course not," countered Oliver, "You can stay until morning. You're still a guest at Isolde's wedding and, I hope, a friend of mine."

Gabi smiled, although it wasn't as bright as it might've been under different circumstances. "Thank you," she nodded, "for all of this. It really was like a fairytale. I'll miss it."

"The fairytale doesn't have to end just because you won't be in a palace anymore," Oliver pointed out. "I like to think we make our own fairytales."

"I like that idea," she decided.

The pair headed back into the ballroom, but before Oliver could rejoin his table or any of the other girls, Jonathan appeared at his side. "Can you come with me?" he asked. His dark eyebrows were furrowed together, and he looked like he was barely keeping himself calm. Given the circumstances, Oliver might have been nervous if anyone else would've made such a request, but he trusted Jonathan so implicitly that he followed him from the ballroom without another word.

However, his confusion grew when Jonathan led him to the garage. "What's going on?" he frowned.

Before he started searching for a set of keys, Jonathan handed Oliver a folded piece of paper. Oliver recognized the handwriting as Sara's, and his stomach dropped when he read the message: _I'm sorry, but this is for the best. Please don't come after me._

"I couldn't find her after the ceremony, but I thought she was just changing or something. When I went to her room, everything was gone, and her maid said that she'd left," he explained. He snatched a set of keys and handed them to Oliver. "Oliver, I've never asked you for anything. But please help me stop her."

"Of course," agreed Oliver without a second thought. The pair slid into a sleek black car, and as they navigated to the private airstrip used by the royal family and their guests, Oliver ignored any speed restrictions. He was positive that Sara was making a mistake, one that he hoped he and Jonathan would be able to prevent.

When they arrived at the airstrip—after Oliver had had to pull rank over the heightened security and order them to let their car through—Sara's plane was idling on the tarmac. She had yet to board the flight and instead lingered on the ground with what looked to be the pilot. Before Oliver could slow the car to a stop, Jonathan jumped out and made a beeline for her.

Sara's face blanched when she saw them, an action that Oliver was a little offended by. In stark contrast to the casual way she'd dressed throughout her stay at the palace, she was wearing a lowcut black dress and a jacket that was much too warm for the warmer Angeles winter. It gave a hint as to her destination, a hint that made Oliver tense. She looked truly distressed by their presence, and she backed towards the stairs as they approached. "Sara, what's going on?" Jonathan asked. His normally stoic face looked pained and confused.

But not as pained as Sara's. "Jonathan… I'm sorry. But Russia is my home."

She avoided his face, like she knew it was a weak explanation. "It wasn't always your home," he argued.

"Please," Sara requested in a soft voice, "don't make this harder than it already is."

"If it's hard, why are you doing this?" demanded Jonathan. He sounded desperate, and Oliver could only imagine how scared he was right now, faced with the possibility of losing her. "Sara, I love you. If I thought this was going to be good for you or make you happy, I would watch you leave without another word. But this makes no sense."

Sara pulled her hands away from Jonathan. "It's nothing I can explain to you," she insisted, "But Jonathan, you know that I have a life in Russia. I'm a noblewoman, I have Nikolai—"

The mention of Nikolai and what her returning to Russia meant brought out Jonathan's frustration. "We can build a better life here!" he declared, "How can you go back to all of that? Sara, you're so much better than him, than how he treats you—"

She cut him off with tears in her eyes. "I'm not asking you to understand," she pointed out, "I'm just asking you… if you love me the way you say that you do… please, let me go, Jonathan."

His long acquaintance with Jonathan made Oliver realize how the situation was going to end before either spoke. As the brown and green eyes bore into each other, there was clear pain in both of their faces, but when Sara's stance didn't waver, Jonathan took a step backwards. "I hope you find happiness. No matter who it's with."

A tentative smile hedged on her face. "I will always love you."

However, the expression was not reflected on Jonathan's. Instead, there was a heartbreak that made Oliver cringe. "Me too." Before his ever-present control wavered, he turned and walked back to the car, the door slamming loudly behind him.

When they were alone, Sara shifted towards the plane so that Jonathan wouldn't be able to see her face from the car. "Is he looking?"

"Uh, no," Oliver answered after a glance at the car.

Her face crumpled, and she reached out to grab the railing of the stairs as she tried not to let her tears shake her body. "He's going to hate me."

Any clarity that Oliver thought he'd had about the situation disappeared. "Sara, what's going on? Why did you do that?"

Instead of answering, she held out a letter to him. Oliver took it tentatively and unfolded it. It was a message in a hasty, messy scrawl. _I would burn Illéa to the ground to get you back. Come home._ There was no signature, but it was clear who the letter was from.

"You know it was him," Sara declared, "You and I both know."

"So, you're going back to him?" demanded Oliver. "Sara, that's insane. The only reason he's not a murderer today is because Tristan and Isolde got lucky."

"I know. But if I go back, maybe all of this will stop," she reasoned. "Nikolai wasn't always like this, Oliver, maybe—"

But even she didn't look convinced. "Sara, you don't have to do this," Oliver insisted. "Stay. You don't have to take this all on yourself. I can protect you."

"No, you can't," countered Sara, "and neither can Jonathan, but I know that he'd try, which is why I couldn't tell him about the letter. You guys don't know Nikolai."

"Just like you don't know Marid," Oliver pointed out, "Sara, I guarantee they bring out the worst in each other, and you don't know what Nikolai will be like when you go back—"

She shook her head. "I would rather take the risk myself than bring it on your family, your country. They're what you need to protect, Oliver, not me."

He hated her argument. But he also knew her well enough to know that there was no way he was going to change her mind. It was just another thing that was out of his control, leaving Oliver feeling helpless. "Take care of yourself," he finally offered, unsure of what else he could do. "Please remember that you always have friends here if you need them."

Sara forced a smile. "Thank you. Will you, uh, will you look out for him?" She nodded towards Jonathan.

"Of course," nodded Oliver.

"I hope he finds happiness." Her eyes were wistful, betraying how much she didn't want to return to her former home.

"He already did," Oliver pointed out.

The tears flooded the green eyes, and she pulled Oliver in for a hug. "Take care of yourself too," she added. He promised he would and watched as she boarded the plane.

He didn't want to make Jonathan watch her fly away, so he quickly returned to the car. Jonathan's eyes were red, but his face was clear of any tears, instead blank as he stared out the window. Oliver wanted to say something, anything to make his friend feel better, but he knew that there were some things that words couldn't help, and this was one of them.

When they parked the car in the palace garage, Jonathan muttered a terse 'thank you' before he jumped out of the car. Oliver sighed and decided to throw in the towel on the day, looking forward to the sleep that had evaded him for the last couple of days.

He made his way mindlessly towards his room but hesitated in front of the door. Instead, he glanced a few doors down. A needy pull urged him forward, and Eadlyn answered the door herself after his first knock. "Oliver? Is everything alright, darling?"

And that was when he realized that he couldn't fight it anymore. "No," he admitted, the hysteria rising in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, to make it go away, but the longer he stood there with his mother's concerned gaze on him, the harder it was to fight. "I'm not okay," he realized.

Eadlyn's face softened, and she reached out to pull him into a hug. Her embrace was strong and warm, the kind that he'd sought out as a child whenever he was sad or hurt. "We're going to be," she promised him, "All of us."


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note:** Guys, this chapter was such a struggle for me. I had the worst writer's block when I first tried to work on it. Then, I sprained my hand and literally couldn't type. Then, I got super sick, so a lot of this was written with the help of Nyquil. If my illness takes me out, hunt down my sister, she knows how the story ends. This chapter is long as hell and super busy. Hope it's not the worst thing you've ever read.

* * *

Christmas Eve was always the big event at the palace since the royal family had many obligations on Christmas day. Although he did the usual things with his family—a brunch in his parents' suite while they were all still dressed in Christmas pajamas and gift exchanges—he also set aside some time for the Elite so that they weren't disappointed by the less than glamorous side of royal life.

Not only had he labored over finding the perfect gifts for them for days, but he also wanted to make sure that they got to just hang out. He'd started with a total transformation of the Women's Room: the elegant decorations had been enhanced by multicolored Christmas lights _everywhere_ , and he'd had the usual chic furniture replaced with large, oversized, squishy couches. An enormous television was hung above the roaring fireplace—framed on each side by a towering Christmas tree, of course—and he'd picked a line-up of Christmas classics (the Claymation Rudolph, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and White Christmas).

He'd sent them a strict dress code—Christmas pajamas _only_ —and was pleased to see that everyone had complied and looked appropriately festive as they filed in. They looked surprised by the room that had looked completely different only the previous night. "Merry Christmas!" beamed Oliver.

They all echoed the sentiment, their faces varying between amused and excited. "You really went all out," Mae commented as she dropped onto one of the couches.

"Says the girl wearing Rudolph slippers," teased Oliver. She smiled and shrugged.

"What are _you_ wearing?" snorted Patricia as she took in the prince's green, flannel pajamas. They had little Christmas trees and Santa hats on them and were one of Oliver's favorite Christmas pajamas.

"There's still time for Santa to decide to put you on the naughty list," he declared warningly, "Don't knock the pajamas."

As the girls picked spots on the couch, Oliver recited the movie title options. "We'll be watching them all," he assured them, "as they're some of the best, and if you don't like any of them, please just let me know and I'll call you a car because there's no way we'll possibly work out."

They decided on Rudolph first, and as the poor, maligned little reindeer bumbled through his early years, Oliver—along with his sidekick Pip, who was dressed in an elf costume—passed out presents to the girls. He was pleasantly surprised when each of them handed him something back in return, which he hadn't been expecting.

"All at once?" he proposed as he settled on the couch between Mae and Adelaide. There was no protest, so the room soon became a flurry of wrapping paper and excited exclamations as they all took in their presents.

He'd tried his best to tailor each gift to its intended recipient's personality. It'd been difficult, but in the end, he thought he'd done pretty well. Adelaide looked excited by the colorful new books that Oliver had gifted her to write in, Patricia instantly tore into her new camera and lenses, and Margaery was enamored by the giant stuffed snow leopard he'd gotten her but even more overjoyed when she read the card that said he'd donated to a snow leopard reserve in East New Asia in her name.

After Rosalie had opened her gift—a complete set of Shakespeare's plays—Oliver added quietly, "I have another gift for you tomorrow." She'd seemed excited at the prospect and nodded enthusiastically.

There were a few responses that concerned him though. He hadn't expected Kaitlyn to be overjoyed, as she rarely was around him nowadays, but he'd thought that his gift of a book on medieval medicine was pretty safe, since he'd remembered Alaric mention that she'd loved the documentary the two had watched together. He wasn't sure whether it was the reminder of Alaric that had made her sad, but he tried desperately to offset it by unveiling Pawnds' gift: a towering cat tree. The cat seemed much more pleased than his owner. Clad in a Santa costume similar to Pip's, the gray feline had wasted no time in climbing the tree.

Mae was also quiet when she opened her gift, a feather necklace. He'd tried to make it more personal by writing the poem that she'd recited to him in Paloma, the one that had inspired her feather tattoo, on the box, and had thought that she'd like it. When she didn't say anything, Oliver frowned. "If you don't like it, I can get you something else," he offered.

Mae shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. "I love it," she declared as she held the box tightly. "The poem and everything… it means so much."

"Why do you seem sad then?" laughed Oliver.

Mae shook her head as she pulled the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck. She put her hand over the little feather, pressing it into her chest. "I just haven't gotten to spend Christmas with people that meant so much to me in a long time."

Emotion tickled the tip of Oliver's nose, and he tried to quickly shrug it off. "Alright," he declared as he turned his attention back to the television, "Buckle in people, we've got some classics to watch."

They made it through all the movies and an exorbitant amount of Christmas cookies before they called it a night. Oliver had been so concerned with making sure that everyone had liked their Christmas gifts that he'd paid little attention to his own. But back in his room, he started to go through them.

The first that caught his attention was a large book. It was navy blue with silver decoration on the front, and when he opened it, he realized Patricia had made him an album.

As he flipped through Patricia's photo album, there was a part of Oliver that longed for the easier times. The earlier pictures featured girls that he hadn't gotten to know very well, but even the girls that had become members of his Elite looked different. They looked less settled, still a little in awe at the palace and the fantastical situation that they'd found themselves in.

Over the last couple of months, the palace had become their second home, and they'd become an odd little family. He wasn't present in some of the pictures, but even in his absence, they looked like they were having the times of their lives.

He hoped it was something they'd take with them once the Selection was over. Whoever he married, he hoped that she would invite the other girls back for events. He hoped that if she ever felt overwhelmed, she would reach out to the other girls who'd gotten a glimpse at struggles of royal life. He hoped his children would know these girls and have allies in them.

As he reached the end of the album, there were a few photos that seemed off balanced or pages that weren't space as well as the others, like they were perhaps missing a picture or had been cropped in some way. Curiosity and a desire to tell Patricia how much he'd enjoyed her gift motivated Oliver to grab a pair of slippers and make his way towards the Selected's wing.

When Patricia's maid showed him into her room, she was still clad in her Christmas pajamas. Her dark hair was pulled out of her face with a pair of clips, and she was wearing a sheet mask that made her look a bit like a character from a horror movie. "Well, this is embarrassing," Patricia declared before Oliver could comment on it.

"Oh, good," he noted, "I wasn't going to say anything unless you did, because you know, manners, but that's actually frightening."

She laughed and peeled the mask off. Her clear skin glowed with a healthy vibrancy, and Oliver considered asking her what kind of mask she'd used before he remembered his dignity. "So, what's up?" Patricia asked. "Is this an elimination ambush?"

"What? No," Oliver assured her.

Patricia exhaled dramatically. "Good. You only seem to show up at our rooms when we're about to get the ax or go on a date, and since it's, like, midnight, I was a little worried."

"No, you're definitely not about to be sent packing," Oliver laughed. He held up the photo album. "I just wanted to thank you for this. It's incredible and obviously took you a while to make, so I really appreciate it."

Patricia glowed under his praise. "It's not a problem," she shrugged, "I had a million pictures, so I thought it might be cool."

"You were right on the mark," Oliver agreed. "I did just have a question."

"Shoot," she offered.

"Some of the pages seem like they might be missing pieces," Oliver admitted.

Patricia hopped off her bed and joined him to look at the pages that he pointed out. As they flipped closer to the end of the album, Patricia's casual smile faded. "Oh."

"Oh what?"

"Well… I did some editing," she explained. "I thought you might like it better without some of the pictures."

"Well, now you've piqued my curiosity," laughed Oliver. "Do you still have them?"

Patricia crossed to the desk in her room and opened one of the drawers. After a little bit of searching, she produced a small stack of photos. Without any explanation, she handed them to Oliver.

As he flipped through them, he quickly understood why she'd taken them out of the book. There were around ten pictures, and in every one of them, there was a common theme: Alaric. Most of the pictures featured them together, laughing or cavorting at balls or (even worse) just looking comfortable in each other's presence. But some pictures featured Alaric with Xander, Tristan, and Elijah, and there was one of him with Kaitlyn. It was a painful reminder of how the young Illéa had infiltrated his life.

"Oh." Oliver wanted to hand her back the pictures, but for some reason, he held on to them for a moment longer. "Good call," he declared, trying to call any of the anger that had motivated him to oust Alaric in the first place, "Wouldn't have wanted it to ruin the whole book."

Patricia hesitated for a moment, like something was on her mind. "What?" Oliver frowned at her.

"Uh… I didn't take the pictures out because I thought you hated Alaric," she countered. "I took them out because I think you miss him, and I didn't want to make you sad."

Truthfully, Oliver hadn't considered the possibility as the source of his regret. Until this point, he'd attributed it to the fact that Kaitlyn was angry with him. But Patricia might have had a point. He flipped through the pictures again.

It was a fair assessment. In a way, he did miss Alaric. He'd been part of the team, and Oliver had treated him horribly.

But it wasn't a black and white situation. No matter what, Alaric would always be an Illéa, and there would be a part of Oliver that always wondered if he could trust him. Besides, he was embarrassed. He certainly hadn't acted like a leader should when he'd gone back on the promise he'd made to Alaric back in Likely. And there was the complication of Kaitlyn.

He tried to shake off Patricia's assumption with a scoff. "I don't think so," he decided dismissively as he held the pictures out to Patricia.

There was a knowing shadow on her face. "You know why I like candid pictures so much?" Patricia asked.

"Why?" he asked, thankful for the change of topic.

He regretted asking when Patricia's intense stare focused on him. "Because they can't lie." She held the Alaric pictures back out to him. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened, and I'm sure there are a lot of factors. But you guys were friends, _good_ friends. And I don't think that's something that you should just forget after one fight."

Tentatively, he took the pictures. "Thanks." He forced a smile and added, "It's definitely something that I'll think about."

But on his way back to his room, he heard a sound that made him think about it much sooner than he'd thought. He paused outside a library on the third floor. Yes, there was definitely someone crying in there.

For a moment, his complete cluelessness about how to help someone who was in tears tempted him to continue on his merry way back to his room. God knew he had enough of his own problems at the moment. But he reminded himself that most of the people in the castle were people he cared about, and since he was trying to be less of an insensitive ass, he stepped into the room.

His heart sank when he recognized the pajamas that Kaitlyn had worn to the Christmas Eve festivities. She was curled up in a chair by the fireplace, her face tucked into her hands as she tried to steady her breathing.

He knew that he wasn't exactly the first person that she wanted to see right now. But he also knew there was no way he could walk away from her while she was in pain. So, without a word, he sank to his knees beside her chair and pulled her into a hug.

To his surprise—and, admittedly, relief—she hugged him back. He almost asked what was wrong, but he had a feeling he knew, and the knowledge that the separation from Alaric was still causing her so much pain made the jealous creature in his chest stir. Would she mourn a separation from him as ardently?

"I-I sent him a Ch-Christmas present," Kaitlyn explained through sobs. She pointed at a wrapped parcel on the end table. A harsh, red stamp that bore "Return to Sender" covered the front. "He-he-he didn't even op-open it."

The jealousy battled with shame as he thought of how he'd ordered Alaric to leave Kaitlyn alone. As he held her to his chest while she sobbed, he realized that he could tell her. But if he did, how long would it take before she left? How long would it be before she made her decision and was on her way to Likely?

But he couldn't just let her suffer either, so after a long moment of thought, he offered, "Kaitlyn… if you… you know, need to leave… I understand." She paused her sobs to glance up at him with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks. "I don't want you to go," he clarified, "At all. But I hate seeing you so sad and knowing that I sort of caused it, even though, for the record, I didn't mean to."

There was a brief moment of consideration. But finally, Kaitlyn shook her head, and Oliver released a nervous breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "I just wish things had turned out differently." Her eyes landed on the returned present. "I hope he finds happiness. But I hope I do too."

Unsure of what else he could say, Oliver pulled her back into his arms. After a moment of stiffness, she relaxed and tentatively wrapped her arms around him as well.

But instead of feeling comforted by their reconciliation, the guilt only grew. Kaitlyn had said she'd loved him, but Oliver realized he'd never heard her admit how she felt about Alaric. He'd always assumed that the feelings had been one-sided on Alaric's part. But if she loved him too… Oliver had kept them apart.

He quickly realized if he dwelled on the toxic situation, he would drive himself crazy. So instead, he pushed it from his mind and declared that they were going to get hot chocolate to cheer her up, hoping that it would have a similar effect on himself as well.

He stayed up far too late with Kaitlyn and regretted it sorely the next morning. In contrast to the tranquility that was Christmas Eve, Christmas Day was hectic. Anderson woke Oliver at seven on his mother's orders, but instead of heading to breakfast, he had to get ready and meet his parents in the entrance hall of the castle.

"Mom, why do we have to do this?" he complained as Eadlyn straightened his tie and crown. "Isn't the reason we have a million maids and butlers so they can show guests to their rooms?"

"Why are you so rumpled?" she demanded.

"Maybe because it's seven thirty," protested Oliver as he shrank back to escape her hands.

"Oliver, cheer up," she ordered, "It's Christmas! Right, Kile? _Kile_?"

His father jumped awake from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Yeah, I think it'll be great," Kile mumbled, obviously unaware of what Eadlyn's question had been.

They always had a lot of guests for Christmas. There were government officials from the provinces, as well as wealthy businesspeople and well-known families. A few royals usually came as a show of goodwill between their countries. Some, like Raphael, just came because they liked to be in the center of the action.

It took two hours for the last of the cars to arrive from the airport, and afterwards, Oliver desperately wanted to drop into bed for a nap. His heart sank when his mother turned to him and beamed, "Ready for church?"

The only upside was that they were joined by the rest of the family and the Elite for the service. He tried to sneak away to sit with the girls—and maybe nap on one of their shoulders—but as always, he was placed at Eadlyn's left side and under her watchful gaze. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs a few times when he dazed off during the mass, but all in all, they made it out with little incident.

When they returned to the palace, sleep still evaded him, as he was drawn into his mother's yearly state of the union meeting. It was supposed to be brief—only an hour—but it was the governors' chance to discuss how things were going in their provinces and bring up any legislature or assistance they needed from the palace, so naturally, Oliver didn't escape for another three hours.

And, because he was the unluckiest person he'd ever met, when he returned to his room, it was time to get ready for Christmas dinner. There would be an optional cocktail hour before, but as always, Oliver was expected to be present.

Starving, exhausted, and in a generally bad mood, he was hiding in an alcove with a tray of hor d'oeuvres when Margaery happened upon him. She took in the sight, and he could see the laughter barely concealed in her face. "Look, I'll acknowledge this isn't my finest moment," Oliver noted before he dropped a tiny sandwich back onto the tray.

"No judgement," Margaery assured him. She gathered the skirt of her lacey, dark blue gown and settled beside him. "Rough day?"

"Oh, it's been _quite_ a merry Christmas," Oliver declared sardonically. "Do you know how many times I've had to pretend to be listening to pompous, old windbags today?"

Margaery laughed. "You know, my father is one of those pompous, old windbags."

"Oh." Oliver frowned as he scanned the crowd for the Seymours. He should have realized that they'd be present at such an event. "Guess that explains why I haven't seen Xander all day. Sorry."

"It's alright," Margaery offered, "My dad _is_ kind of a windbag."

Oliver snorted and popped another shrimp into his mouth. "Well, at least you already know how to talk to them," he pointed out. "The poor other girls are probably amazed that these are the people that basically run the provinces." He glanced over to where Kaitlyn was talking with the governor from Clermont. Her eyebrows were raised in concern as the old man told a joke that was apparently so funny that it made him start wheezing.

"This isn't a bad hideout," Margaery noted. She reached for one of his snacks.

"Survival skill number one of being royalty: find the best refuges," he declared. "You guys have probably realized that balls and dinners get really old really fast."

With a laugh, Margaery protested, "I like them. You get to meet a lot of interesting people."

"Well, just wait," declared Oliver, "Soon you'll know everyone, and then the only interesting part will be listening to them gossip about each other. You should hear with the governor of Allens thinks of the province rep from Honduragua."

"Isn't it funny how petty grown adults can be?" Margaery mused. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice that gave Oliver the idea that she didn't like gossip.

"I try to keep my standards low so I can't be surprised by anyone's ridiculousness, including my own," he admitted. He sighed and inspected his empty tray. "Can't hide out forever, I guess, and I'm all out of food. We could go save your brother from your dad."

"He'll appreciate that," laughed Margaery. Oliver rose to his feet and offered an arm to her.

Before they reached the Seymours, Oliver heard someone call his name. His face broke into a grin when he saw Raphael approaching him. He glanced at Margaery, who offered to meet up with him later and continued over to her parents and older brother. The Italian prince greeted him with a hug and held him at an arm's length to examine him. "You look older since I left," Raphael declared with his usual easy smile.

Oliver snorted. "Don't you watch the news?"

"I try not to," shrugged Raphael. "The world is a depressing place, mio amico." Oliver rolled his eyes and almost scolded the irresponsible prince, but Raphael's face darkened. "I did hear about your brother. How is he doing?"

"Good," Oliver admitted, "We've kept it pretty quiet, but he actually married Isolde a couple days ago."

Raphael swore in Italian. "The rascal!" he declared. "How embarrassing, amico, we were both beat by your fratellino. But I'm impressed, his wife is…" Raphael wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Speaking of foxes," smirked Oliver, "who's the girl?" He nodded across the room to the girl that was seated next to Raphael's cousin, Audrina.

Raphael's face lit up in an unfamiliar manner. "One of the reasons I wanted to speak with you," he admitted, "I wanted to introduce you to her, but I had to make sure you were going to behave yourself first."

Oliver held his hands up in concession. "Scout's honor. So, tell me about the flavor of the week."

"That is not behaving," Raphael declared. "Her name is Beatrice. She's the daughter of the duca de Sardinia."

Oliver whistled. "You sure it's safe to play with such a high-ranking nobleman's daughter, Raph?"

Even with all the crazy things that had happened that week, in that moment Raphael said something that surprised Oliver more than anything he'd ever heard: "I'm not _playing_. I think I'm in love with her."

To emphasize his shock, Oliver choked on his wine. "What? When did this happen?"

"After I left Illéa, I decided to take a vacation on the Amalfi coast with Nonna Nicoletta, and we ran into her one night. Nonna knows her padre, of course, and as we spent more time together, I realized that I didn't want to leave her after the week. So, I invited her to court, and we've been seeing each other since." He grinned proudly, and Oliver had to repress a tantrum. Why couldn't his love life be half as easy as that?

"With all of your ex-girlfriends and conquests?" smirked Oliver.

Raphael grinned. "If I recall, you have your fair share of conquests at Italian court as well, amico."

"Alright, alright," Oliver agreed, glancing around to make sure none of the Selected were in earshot. "Well, introduce me to this girl then. She has to be something if she can make the great principe d'Italia change his ways."

"She is," Raphael assured him. The pair grabbed reinforcements—wine, they grabbed wine—before they crossed to the Italian ladies. "Audrina, you remember Oliver," Raphael smirked. Oliver _might_ have had a teenage fling with Contessa Audrina, but no matter how many times both made it clear that they had no lingering feelings about it, Raphael refused to let it go. He'd tried to repay the favor by hooking up with one of Oliver's French cousins but had failed miserably every attempt.

After Oliver had hugged Audrina, Raphael put a hand around Beatrice's waist. While Oliver often didn't put much stock into what Raphael said most of the time, as he watched the way his friend looked at the girl at his side, he realized that Raphael was maybe being serious. He looked at Beatrice like she was the center of his universe.

"Oliver, this is Beatrice," Raphael announced, "Bea, Prince Oliver."

She was a pretty girl but not the type that Raphael usually went for. She was petite and thin, with a somewhat flat chest and impeccable posture. Her hair fell to her shoulders, a mousy brown color that curled around her sweet face. The vibrant brown eyes smiled as she curtsied to Oliver. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," she announced. Her voice was soft with a heavy Italian accent, but it didn't waver.

"Oliver, please," Oliver invited, "Any friend of Raph's is a friend of mine."

Beatrice seemed pleased by this. Oliver chatted with the Italians a little longer before he noticed his mother fixing him with a hard look and realized that it was time to socialize. With a groan and more reinforcements, he joined Xander. "Alright," he sighed, "Introduce me to some business people that aren't going to make me drown myself with this wine."

Although he was usually the most affable of his friends, Xander snorted. "Pickings are slim," he admitted, "But let's see what we've got."

Xander was not exaggerating. In the next twenty minutes, they rotated between Mr. and Mrs. Dorian Haloran, who owned the largest department store in Illéa; the Ramirez's, who were wealthy farmers from Paloma; and Mr. Geyers, who owned a large portion of the financial district in Waverly.

Their faces, occupations, and ridiculous comments that they made—apparently, Mrs. Haloran's granddaughter had cried for _weeks_ after she hadn't been Selected—all blended together for Oliver. They were ridiculously boring. After the tedious trio, Oliver slunk off to another corner, nursing his drink. "Ready to meet a leader in the pet food industry?" Xander asked, always the picture of optimism.

"No!" Oliver shook his head vehemently. "God, no. Here, I'll introduce you to some people. They're infinitely more interesting than Mr. Ramirez's tomato hybrids."

Over by the twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree, Tae and his sister, Yoshiko, were examining the elaborate ornaments and chatting in Mandarin. Oliver greeted them, one of the few phrases he knew in Mandarin, and introduced them to Xander. "You're Lady Margaery's brother, aren't you?" Yoshiko asked.

Xander admitted that he was, and Oliver and Tae both fixed the princess with confused expressions. She shrugged shyly. "I like keeping up with the Selection," she giggled, "There is nothing like it in East New Asia. It's like a fairytale."

"Try living it," snorted Oliver.

"How is it coming?" Tae asked. "You know, the New Asian New Year is not far out, and you promised to bring your new wife for the celebration this year!"

Oliver laughed nervously. "I'm… working on it."

"Any inside info you can share?" Yoshiko asked, her brown eyes twinkling. "I'm in a very competitive Selection fantasy league with my ladies-in-waiting." He was a bit envious of the princess's position. Although she was the eldest child, like himself, she was spared the role of heir because only sons were eligible to inherit the crown in East New Asia. She had all the time in the world to do silly things like Selection brackets.

The group laughed. "I wish I could, Your Highness," admitted Oliver. "If I knew, I would let you know. But at this point, you probably have a better idea than I do."

"I have too many favorites," she admitted, "I wish they all could stay."

"They only do that in West New Asia, Yoshi," snorted Tae. Oliver saw Xander choke on his drink at the joke the East New Asian prince made at the expense of his rival country, which made Oliver laugh a little harder.

"Alright," he declared, "We're going to go say hi to Mosi and Neema before you can get us into any trouble."

Tae gave them his usual, playful smile. "Don't forget, Oliver! New Asian New Year. We'll be expecting you and Mrs. Schreave!"

"They are definitely more interesting than the Halorans," Xander declared. "Do East New Asia and West New Asia not get along well?"

"It's a tense situation," Oliver admitted. "There was a civil war between the brothers a while ago, and instead of a reconciliation, they just separated. West New Asia didn't get as many resources as the East did, so it's always been a little stressed. Then when the emperor of West New Asia didn't have a son and had to declare Princess Ryo his heir… naturally, it was just another reason to hate East New Asia."

"Is it a big concern for Illéa?" Xander asked.

Oliver shrugged. "Not really. My grandfather supported separation, so we're not West New Asia's favorite country, but they don't have the resources or allies—let alone cause—to take us on."

But Xander's brows only furrowed further. "What if they did get involved with a big, powerful country… like Russia?"

A frown formed between Oliver's eyebrows. "That wouldn't be ideal," he admitted. "Luckily, Russia is remarkably isolationist. And regardless of how much Nikolai infuriates me, I don't have the _worst_ working relationship with his older brother, who, luckily, will be tsar when his father dies or steps down."

"But," he added optimistically, "Illéa also has a lot of allies. Like these guys." He led Xander towards Neema and Mosi, who were talking with his Uncle Ahren.

"There's the prodigal nephew," Ahren grinned. He dropped an arm around Oliver's shoulders, while Mosi and Neema nodded respectfully to him. Oliver made Xander's introduction as he freed himself from his uncle's grasp. "We were just discussing your brother's wedding."

"I heard it was beautiful," Neema sighed.

Oliver felt a little guilty, even though it wasn't his decision to move it up. "I'm sorry you weren't able to make it," he offered, "It was a little last minute. But if I can tempt you with another royal wedding, I'll be up to bat sometime this year."

"Oh, of course, we understood," Mosi countered in his deep, gravelly voice. "The circumstances surrounding the crash were…"

"Extenuating?" offered Ahren.

"I was going to say suspicious," Mosi concluded. Oliver wanted to pump his fist into the air. Sahara was one of their closest allies, and to hear that the country's heir was distrustful of Russia's involvement in the crash when his own mother had been so dismissive made Oliver feel like he'd won something.

"You know, I could not agree more, Your Imperial Highness," Oliver declared as he raised his glass to Mosi.

Eadlyn must've already warned Ahren about Oliver's feelings towards Russia because his uncle distractedly noted, "Alright, alright, are we here for a war summit or a holiday?"

Neema picked up the diversion. "The palace looks beautiful," she beamed as she glanced around the decorated dining room. "I wish we had trees like that in Sahara."

"Oliver mentioned that you don't celebrate Christmas," Xander noted, "What are your major holidays in Sahara?"

"We have a wide range of religions in Sahara," Mosi noted. "Our citizens are allowed to practice whatever they wish, and it varies between different locations." Neema nodded before she began to explain the Christmas-like celebrations that had taken place in her native village.

A few minutes into their conversation, Oliver noticed his friend's eyes focus on something across that room that made his brow furrow. Without allowing his concern to show, Oliver politely excused them both and turned to Xander. "You okay?"

He nodded across the room towards his sister. "That guy that Margaery is talking to—"

"Oh! I know him," Oliver remarked. "That's Kaleb Ayers. Got me out of a tight spot a while ago at this club. Come on." He didn't notice the way that Xander's face blanched until it was too late, pulling the Earl Marshal along with him.

"Kaleb!"

When Kaleb turned from Margaery to greet the prince, a warm, friendly smile lit up his face. "Your Highness." He bowed. "Thank you so much for the invitation."

Oliver remembered that he'd added Kaleb onto a guest list where his father had already been present, since the elder Ayers was the vice-president of Eastern Commerce, one of the largest banks in Illéa. "Well, just a show of appreciation after our earlier run in this year," Oliver explained, thinking of the Irina situation and the mess that he'd gotten into at the club with one of Kaleb's friends. It was strange to think of, as he'd never do something like that to the Elite now.

Kaleb sent a sly smile to Margaery. "Of course," he replied, "I was actually just catching up with one of your Elite."

Oliver's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "Do you guys know each other?"

" _No._ " Margaery's voice was surprisingly firm as she turned to Oliver. Her smile looked a little forced. "Your glass is almost empty," she declared, even though Oliver still had half his wine left, "Why don't we go get another?"

But Kaleb slyly caught Margaery's arm. "Margy, you didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what?" frowned Oliver.

" _Nothing_ ," insisted Margaery. She shot a desperate glance at Xander.

"Uh, our father works with the Ayers' business on occasion," Xander explained, "Nothing to really talk about though—"

Kaleb laughed. "What about our other business venture?"

"What is going on?" Oliver asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Margaery seemed oddly ruffled by Kaleb Ayers, since she was usually one of the most well-composed girls.

Before a floundering Margaery and a clearly uncomfortable Xander could come up with a response, Kaleb pulled Margaery to his side. "Margy here is my ex-fiancée," he declared. "Who knows, Your Highness, if she hadn't cheated on me, she might not even have been a part of your Selection."

There was a moment where the small group of four just looked at each other: Kaleb smirking at Margaery, Margaery's apologetic eyes turned on Oliver, Oliver glancing between the pair, and Xander glowering at Kaleb. "What, she didn't tell you?" Kaleb inquired innocently.

Heat flooded Oliver's face as he realized that, once again, he was the last to find out something important about one of the Selected. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" he announced as he glanced between Xander and Kaleb. The latter looked gleeful, and while Xander seemed like he wanted to protest, he nodded. Oliver retreated to the alcove where he'd hidden earlier, Margaery at his heels.

As soon as they were alone, Oliver turned on her. "How long ago did all of this happen?"

Margaery cringed at his tone. "A little more than a year?"

Oliver's face was disbelieving. It had always seemed like Margaery was the perfect option: sweet, kind, caring without the complicating factors that made him question some of his other relationships. But he had been wrong. And in a way, Oliver felt like he had no one to blame for the way that he was feeling right now but himself. He'd put her on a pedestal, held her up as a perfect thing in a messy world, and as was unavoidable, she'd fallen.

"A year ago," he repeated in a hollow voice. It seemed like such a small amount of time, insignificant really when it came to getting over one's only serious relationship, something that had almost ended in _marriage_. He raised his sad eyes to meet her apologetic gaze. "So, what was I? A rebound?"

"No!" Margaery countered instantly. "It wasn't like that."

"So, what was it like, Margaery?" he demanded, the seemingly ever-present anger simmering within him. "Because you've been here for _months_ , and I've told you a lot about myself. I've told you about Pacifica and how I feel pressured by the monarchy and who I want to be, and at a million different points, you could've told me about this!"

There were tears in Margaery's eyes. "I know," she admitted, "and I'm sorry. I-I wish I would've told you sooner, but I was scared that you'd react… well, like this—"

A deeper fear stabbed at Oliver. "Didn't you trust me?" he demanded. Because when he thought about, he'd put a lot of trust into the girls at different points, and he wanted to feel it reciprocated. He growled in frustration. "God, how ironic. One of the first things you asked me about on our first date was my dating history, yet you completely failed to mention that you were about to _marry_ someone!"

"Oliver, stop," Margaery requested, "Of course I trust you. You're right, I should've brought it up then, and when I didn't, it seemed like there was never a good place to tell you about it." She hesitated before she added, "And you weren't exactly truthful that day either. You never mentioned Regan."

"That's different," Oliver countered hotly. "I didn't have a Selection because of Regan. But can you honestly tell me he has nothing to do with why you're here?"

Margaery opened her mouth to reply instantly, but after a moment, she closed it in hesitation. "No," she finally admitted in a small voice. "He is a large part of the reason that I came here. When Kaleb told everyone that I cheated on him—which didn't happen, by the way—it felt like that was all that people saw when they looked at me. It didn't matter how many charities I helped or how nice I was to people. There was nothing that I could do."

"Except escape," frowned Oliver.

She gave a small nod. "I hoped that I could show everyone through the Selection that the person that Kaleb portrayed me as isn't who I am."

It was a lot to take in, and Oliver mulled over her words for a long minute. "So, has this all been an act?" he asked flatly. "Presenting your best face to the world… and to me?"

A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and she nervously tugged at one of her fingernails. Oliver realized he'd never noticed any of her nervous habits before and couldn't help but wonder if they were something she'd concealed from him as well. "I suppose I maybe tried harder," Margaery confessed weakly. "But I've never pretended to be someone that I'm not, Oliver. I just wanted you to see the good things about me, because it felt like no one had for so long."

He understood to an extent—he really did. But he was too hung up on the ways that he'd opened up to her, and the things that she hadn't been able to reciprocate. "I wanted to see all the parts of you though," he frowned. "The good and the bad."

"There's still time," Margaery tried.

But her statement was in direct conflict with a feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I don't know if there is," replied Oliver. Then, unable to watch her cry, he fled to the safety of the crowded ballroom, his thoughts swirling.

His goal had been to escape—maybe ask Xander a little about the situation or at least get some more wine so that it wasn't the only thing he could think of—but he was accosted by another pair of pompous, wealthy businessmen with inflated senses of self-importance. They trapped him, and to his displeasure, he realized that Kaleb Ayers was within earshot as well. He tried to ignore the latter as he listened to the old men prattle on about things that seemed very unimportant to him at that moment.

That is, until he caught wind of Kaleb's conversation.

As Oliver listened to Kaleb, he felt his temper slowly climbing. "A shame, really," Kaleb sighed, "The prince is a personal friend, and if I'd realized that it was _her_ that was in his Selection, I would've warned him earlier. Poor guy. Of course, I know firsthand how manipulating she can be."

"Excuse me," Oliver ground out before he turned around. "Kaleb," he declared loudly, "Could I speak with you privately?" Before Kaleb could respond, Oliver shoved him towards a quiet area of the room.

Kaleb spoke before Oliver even opened his mouth. "Look," he began, "I'm sorry about all of this. I should've told you at Opium, but I sort of got caught up in the moment and forgot. I'm just glad I was able to tell you about her before you made a huge mistake and married her or something—"

"Can you shut up for a minute?" Oliver demanded. Kaleb looked shocked, and Oliver suspected that, much like himself, he'd never been spoken to in such a manner before. Oliver tried to rein in his temper. "Look, while I appreciate the… input of my people, I'm not sending Margaery home because you're upset about a break up."

The speed with which Kaleb Ayers's demeanor changed shocked Oliver a little bit. While the young man had always been agreeable, if a bit simpering, in the prince's presence, his brow instantly furrowed, his lips turned down into a frown, and there was a stormy displeasure in his eyes. " _What_?"

"It's an issue for Margaery and me to work past," Oliver shrugged. "But as it is, she remains a Lady of my Selection, so you should probably stop mouthing off and show some respect."

Apparently, Kaleb was not much better at controlling his anger than Oliver was. "Are you kidding?" he demanded. "You'd let someone like that—a deceptive little slut—be our queen?"

In a not entirely warm and festive move, Oliver shoved Kaleb against the wall behind them. "Watch it," he warned. "I wasn't requesting you show some respect. It was more of an order."

Kaleb was silent until Oliver released him and took a step back, trying to quell his anger. They'd attracted more attention than he would've liked, and Xander and Elijah appeared at Oliver's side. "Everything okay?" Elijah asked, eyeing Kaleb warily.

"It's fine," Oliver ground out. "Kaleb and I were just… coming to an understanding."

Kaleb's expression clearly noted that it was not fine. "I did you a favor," the blonde man pointed out, "when I hid the fact that you were out making out with a girl who was definitely not a part of your Selection. I didn't tell anyone then."

His dangerous tone didn't go over well with neither the prince or his friends. Elijah took a step between Oliver and Kaleb. "You know, Ayers, that sounded a lot like a threat," he declared in a low voice. "But you wouldn't be dumb enough to threaten your prince, would you?"

Kaleb's face blanched slightly until Xander pulled Elijah away. "No," countered Kaleb as he straightened his jacket haughtily, "I just think that such favors deserve thanks—"

"What do you want, a medal of honor?" snapped Oliver.

"I want that whore put in her place," retorted Kaleb, and suddenly, it was Elijah holding Xander back. "After everything she's done, this is what she gets? To be one of the most revered women in the country?"

"She didn't even _do_ anything!" Xander barked. His usually jovial face was contorted with more rage than Oliver knew his friend to even be capable. "You set her up, you lying sack of—"

But Oliver would never know what colorful expletive he was about to bestow on Kaleb Ayers, because Elijah decided that some space would be good for Xander and dragged him outside to a balcony. Oliver turned a cautionary look on Kaleb. "Watch it, Ayers," he announced, "Last warning."

Oliver wouldn't have guessed that Kaleb was a very smart man, but he was a little surprised by just how stupid he proved to be. Even the most basic idiot would've had enough self-preservation to let the irritated prince walk away, but Kaleb's indignation got the best of him. Oliver had turned his back and only taken a step before Kaleb acknowledged, "You know, you hear things outside of the palace."

Part of Oliver wanted to keep walking, but the larger part wanted to watch Kaleb crash and burn. So, he paused. "I'm not shocked you'd want to keep Margaery," admitted Kaleb, "Social climbing witch that she may be, at least she knows how to act. I hear the model is scared of her own shadow, and sweet Lady Rosalie is far too plain to be queen. Of course, that leaves you with Patricia, who you look as about as attracted to as that burly bodyguard of yours. Mark off the Davis girl, who I hear is in love with Alaric Illéa, and then there's that beautiful dime that used to sell the pleasure of her company to men—"

Generally, Oliver didn't like fighting. He was more of a master of words, talking his way in and out of situations, and crushing his opponents with biting jabs. But unfortunately, Kaleb Ayers appeared to be a man of words as well, and Oliver decided that he wasn't going to fight fire with fire.

So, before Kaleb could deliver his conclusory blow, Oliver delivered a blow of his own: his fist, directly to Ayers' jaw.

A lot of things happened after that. First, Jonathan swept in between the two men, looking both exasperated and amused. The room fell mostly silent as too many pairs of eyes turned to them. A few of Kaleb's friends took a step towards them like they were going to help, but when Jonathan pushed his coat out of the way to reveal the holster of his gun, they decided against it. Oliver, for his part, felt a rush of different emotions: initially, pride; secondarily, embarrassment; and finally, pain as his knuckles ached.

Unsure of what else to do, he declared to their new crowd, "Mr. Ayers was just leaving. Everyone ready to eat?"

The room burst into action, and although Eadlyn sent him a look that said they would certainly be talking about his conduct later, Oliver had no regrets as he watched a pair of guards lead Kaleb from the room. As he took his seat at the head of the table at the queen's side, he caught Margaery's gaze. She gave him a tentative smile, her appreciation evident, and after a small moment of hesitation, Oliver sent her a brief but encouraging grin in response.

They made it through the rest of dinner without incident, and when he was finally free of his long day of obligations, Oliver sought out Rosalie. "You busy?" he asked.

"Of course not," she countered with a smile. She looked quite pretty in a red and cream gown with little flowers on it, and her hair curled elegantly.

"Good," declared Oliver, "It's time for the second part of your gift."

She looked shocked but took his hand when he offered it to her and let him lead her from the room. "I started to read the plays that you got me, by the way," she declared as they walked down a silent hall. "I love them."

"I hoped you would," grinned Oliver, glad that his present had been a hit and not a miss. He'd never been good with gifts, but he'd tried his best for the girls.

He led her towards a room that wasn't used very much in the palace. It was mostly dark inside, and Rosalie looked nervous as Oliver led her down a flight of dimly lit stairs. "We're not going to a dungeon or anything, are we?" she fretted.

Oliver laughed as he ushered her into a seat at the bottom of the stairs. "Not at all," he promised.

They both sat down in the darkness, and a silence settled over them for a minute. "Am I missing something?" Rosalie whispered as she glanced around. The room was still dark, but Oliver shook his head.

"Just wait for it," he offered.

She nodded her agreement, and they held hands silently in the dark. Oliver could feel her tension as the presence of others in the dark became obvious. "Is someone here?" Rosalie asked, her discomfort clear.

"Yes," confirmed Oliver, amused by her reaction.

"Can we get some lights or something?" Rosalie frowned.

Almost as if someone had heard her inquiry, the lights of the stage in front of them burst to life without notice in a manner that made Rosalie jump. She laughed at herself when she realized they were in a small theater. "You didn't have to be so secretive," she chided him with a chuckle at herself.

"It was cute," Oliver assured her with a laugh of his own.

Their conversation was curtailed shortly as the orchestra in front of them picked up their instruments. After the opening chords, the curtains of the stage pulled back to reveal a full set. The actors walked on a moment later, and the show began.

Oliver had truly felt awful that he hadn't been able to make the show with Rosalie. It hadn't been anyone's fault, but he knew that it was something that she would've loved. The theater in Angeles where it had been performed by the impressive company was one of the most beautiful, modeled after the Paris Opera House in France. He'd planned for them to dress up and get to enjoy a night away from the palace, and instead, they'd been subjected to nothing but stress since the accident.

Since they hadn't gotten the chance to escape to the theater, Oliver had decided to have it brought to them. When he asked the company if they'd be willing to travel to the palace for a private performance, there'd been eager agreement. He knew it wouldn't be the same, but he hoped that Rosalie would still be able to enjoy the show.

As she sat beside him, wide-eyed and clearly captivated, Oliver was glad that he'd decided to ask for the private showing. It was worth the slight difficulty of figuring out scheduling, payment, and everything of that sort to see the joy in her eyes. Her passion for theater was clear, emanating from the bright, spectacled eyes.

When the final curtain call sounded, Rosalie jumped to her feet to applaud the actors, and Oliver joined her. "Want to meet everyone?" he offered.

"Really?" she asked excitedly.

He nodded and led her backstage. They said hello to Thalia, of course, but they were also introduced to different actors and actresses that they were both unfamiliar with. Rosalie hung on their every word, and when the director invited her to come audition in the fall after she mentioned that she was an actress, Rosalie looked like she was going to faint from excitement.

Slowly, the theater emptied until they were the only two left. Oliver lounged on one of the chairs of the set as Rosalie slowly examined the stage. "Thank you," she beamed, clearly still over the moon. "This was incredible. All of this just for me? I never thought something like this would be happening to me."

"You deserve it," Oliver declared, "You've really been here for me throughout this whole crazy thing, Rose."

She turned towards him with a smile on her lips. "I'm glad you feel that way," she admitted, "That's all I've ever wanted."

"Well, mission accomplished," proclaimed Oliver as he stood and joined her at center stage.

Rosalie smiled up at him shyly. "Um…"

"Do I have something on my shirt?" Oliver frowned as he glanced down.

She laughed. "No," she assured him, "It's just…" She pointed up. Tied to one of the microphones that descended from the rafters was a distinctive, festive bundle of mistletoe.

Thinking of the way that Rosalie had responded the last time he'd tried to kiss her, Oliver instinctively took a step back. "Oh. Sorry," he laughed.

But to his surprise, Rosalie's smile turned brave, and she stepped towards him again. Before he could fully register what was happening, she leaned upon her tip toes and kissed him lightly. When they parted, she smiled, the happiness shining from her face. "Merry Christmas, Oliver."


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all your well-wishes :) I'm feeling a lot better and my hand hardly hurts anymore so cheers. Seven chapters until Holding is over! I'm a glass case of emotion already, basically. Tell me who you think is going to win/who your ultimate ship with Oliver is if you review, I'm curious.

* * *

As he sat before Eadlyn's desk, it occurred to Oliver that someday his mom wouldn't be around to yell at him and that maybe he should try to pay attention to her ranting. But it was a lot easier in theory than in practice.

" _Are you even listening?"_

"I'm sorry, Mother," sighed Oliver, "What were we talking about? Was it still my conduct on Christmas, or had we moved on to a different shortcoming of mine?"

She clearly didn't appreciate his joking. "Eastern Commerce is one of the largest banks in the country," she reminded him as she ceased her pacing and settled herself at her desk. "What if we need them one day, Oliver? You _know_ the crown doesn't have unlimited funds, especially in the event of a conflict."

Oliver perked up at this mention. "Wait," he interjected, "I thought you weren't worried about conflict with Russia?"

Eadlyn held up a warning finger. "I didn't specifically say Russia," she pointed out, "And that's beside the point. Do you really think Eastern Commerce will be willing to work with us when you've publicly insulted one of their shareholders?"

"The son of a shareholder," Oliver contended. "The Ayers are just on the board of the bank, it's not like they own it."

"They are a _powerful family_ , Oliver—"

Irritated, he rose to his feet. " _We_ are a powerful family, Mom," he argued. "If Eastern Commerce wants to retain any of their power, they won't let Kaleb Ayers succeed his father's position with the company. There are other banks out there. It's far more important for them to be on our good side than it is for us to be on theirs."

He could tell that his mom wasn't ready to let it go—she rarely was—so he pressed forward, "Regardless of who I choose, he insulted my future wife and Illéa's future queen. I intend to be a benevolent ruler, but where my family is concerned, I draw a very definite line."

Eadlyn pursed her lips. "So, how do you intend to fund your new military operation?"

H had turned to leave, but her words froze him. _Shit_. She knew. She knew about Pacifica, and it was all over. She was going to shut it down and probably punish Gauge, Xander, and anyone else who'd had knowledge. Who knew what she was going to do to him. Most likely lock him in his room until the day of his coronation so that he couldn't mess with anything else during her reign.

He slowly sank back into his chair. "Look," he began, nervous sweat prickling on his hands, "I can explain."

"No need," countered Eadlyn. She pulled a folder from her desk and walked around her desk. She held it out, and Oliver tentatively took it. Inside was a copy of anything that he'd signed off on in regards to Pacifica. There were pictures of the construction, prototype documents, and numerous receipts. Oliver swallowed, but to his great surprise, Eadlyn laughed. "Calm down."

"You're not going to kill us?" he asked, suspicious of her good mood.

Eadlyn snorted. "No, darling. Although I am a little shocked that you thought you could get something by me unnoticed for so long. Really, Ol?"

In retrospect, Oliver realized he'd maybe been a little too hopeful. "Well, there was a lot going on," he pointed out, "I thought maybe you were distracted."

There was a roll of her eyes. "Oliver, dear, you are always my chief distraction," she remarked.

He nervously shifted in his seat. "But you're not mad?" he frowned, a little confused by her reaction.

"I think it's a great idea," she announced, "and very perceptive. Illéa could benefit from more defensive measures. Initially, I was a little curious about your motivations, of course. But your organization and execution have been remarkable."

It seemed like she was praising him, but he was still somewhat concerned. "Am I still in trouble…?" he asked, his confusion evident on his face.

Eadlyn laughed. "My point, my dear, is that if you want to see this dream of yours to fruition, you might have to grovel with people like the Ayers at times," she explained, "For the moment, you've found the funding for Pacifica. But for maintenance and expansion, you'll have to borrow money from the banks. The crown doesn't have unlimited funds."

Oliver frowned. "I don't think apologizing is the right way though. There are other banks and other families without insulting pricks for sons that would love to work with the crown."

"You're right," allowed Eadlyn, "This time. But I also think it's important for you to reach out to Mr. Ayers and the other board members and let them know that you hold no ill will against _them_ , at least."

"That sounds a lot like Kaleb winning," frowned Oliver.

"Darling, you dislocated his jaw," cringed Eadlyn, "I assure you he did not win."

Oliver tried to repress a smug grin, but his mother noticed and rolled her eyes. "You're ridiculous," she sighed, "You may leave now. Send a letter to Ayers Senior and Eastern Commerce by the end of the week expressing your sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding and your wish to maintain good relations into the future provided Kaleb is excluded."

Although he agreed begrudgingly, Oliver felt a little triumphant as he made his way out of the queen's office. He headed back to his room with a pep in his step, which Elijah and Xander seemed to pick up on when he walked in. "Why do you look so happy?" Elijah asked suspiciously.

"I dislocated Kaleb Ayers' jaw," he announced. Xander promptly stood to high-five him.

"Proud of you," Elijah noted. "Did your mom exile you?"

"Shockingly, no," declared Oliver, "Although turns out she did know about Pacifica." Xander spilled his tea in surprise. "She's also cool about that, though. I don't know, maybe Dad is slipping her some chill pills, because I'm really not in hot water at all, all things considered. I have to write a stupid letter to the board of Eastern Commerce, but that's about it."

"Did you make any progress on that other thing?" Xander asked.

Oliver frowned. His eyes settled on a small, wrapped box that had been sitting on his dresser for a few days no. "Not yet."

"Can't put it off forever," noted Elijah.

"I know." Oliver heaved a heavy sigh. "I just… wasn't sure if I was ready."

Xander shifted uncomfortable. "If you're doubting it—"

"I'm not," countered Oliver, "I'm sure of her."

His friends nodded understandingly. "Well, then good luck," offered Elijah as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Oliver stood and crossed to the box. It was small, fitting almost perfectly in the palm of his hand and easily into the pocket of his jeans. "Now or never," he muttered to himself as familiar nerves began to flutter in his stomach.

It seemed like not enough to just stop by her room to deliver the gift, so Oliver had asked her to meet him in the Rainbow Room for brunch. He wished they could've done it out in the open air on one of the balconies, but winter had hit Angeles with a vengeance, and the temperature had dipped into the low forties.

Adelaide was waiting for him, clad in a pale blue dress and a radiant smile on her face. "Hi," Oliver greeted her, "Sorry I'm late, a meeting with my mother ran behind."

"That's alright," beamed Adelaide. "I'm just excited to get to see you."

Oliver's nerves spiked once more. "I've been doing a lot of writing in the books that you got me for Christmas," she added.

"Really? That's awesome," Oliver replied. "Anything you want to share?"

Adelaide hesitated. To Oliver's surprise, she reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a piece of paper. "It's just a summary of sorts," she explained as a disclaimer before she handed the paper over.

The room was silent aside from the maid's preparation of their brunch as Oliver read through the page. She truly had a way with words. Her writing had a whimsical, fantastical quality to it that made the reader want more. "Adelaide, I love it," he announced when he finished.

She smiled shyly. "Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Have you written anymore?"

"Not yet," she admitted, "but if it ever becomes something, you'll be the first to know."

"I expect a whole page in the dedication too," joked Oliver. "But since we're on the topic of you're writing… I have a sort of offer for you."

"Oh no," joked Adelaide.

"Do you remember when Gabi's mother came to the palace when I met your families?" questioned Oliver.

Adelaide nodded. "I've only read all of her books," she giggled. "She's an amazing writer."

"I'm glad you think so," Oliver grinned excitedly, "because I've been in contact with Gabi and her mother to see if they'd be willing to let you spend some time with them in Sumner, maybe work with Mrs. Huisken as a mentor. They said they would love to have you."

For a brief moment, Adelaide's face lit up. However, after a moment, the dark blue eyes grew sad. "But… that means leaving here," she noted.

Oliver sighed. "Yes," he acknowledged, "Yes, it does."

Adelaide was quiet for a long moment as she processed the information. "I'm going home," she said aloud, as though she was trying to come to terms with the news. Her face blanched, and Oliver knew that she was thinking of her mother.

He reached for her hand. "I do have one last gift," he pointed out as he fished the box from his pocket.

Adelaide gently unwrapped it, her fingers pausing when she reached the contents. "Is this what I think it is?" she breathed.

"It's your freedom," Oliver declared. Adelaide pulled a key from the box. "It doesn't go to anything specific, because I wasn't sure whether you'd want to stay in Angeles or go back to Clermont or even stay in Sumner. But whatever you decide to settle, you'll have a place. You're never going back to your mother."

"Furthermore," continued Oliver as he slid a file folder across the table to her, "I've had a hold placed on all of your Selection checks so your mother couldn't use them." He smiled, a bit sadly as he wasn't happy to see her go. "You've got a new life, Adelaide Nichols."

She tried to blink them away, but a few tears snuck out of her eyes. "Thank you." But she bit her lip, in a manner that made her look not entirely happy.

"But…?" prompted Oliver.

"Uh… I guess I'm just a little confused," confessed Adelaide. "I thought… I don't know, I thought you liked me."

Oliver frowned. "Addie, I do like you," he assured her, "A lot. I just think that I have other relationships that feel more… right."

"Oh." She nodded. "I guess I understand. I'm just… a little sad."

"It's okay to be sad," Oliver pointed out, "But I just want you to promise me that you're really going to live once you leave and do what you love. You're a great writer, Addie. You truly have a way with words. I think that you really have an opportunity to move a lot of people, so write about how you feel. All the feelings, not just the good ones. Write when you feel happy or sad or nostalgic. Write when things are hard or confusing, because they're going to be. But also, write when you've just had the best day of your life, because there will probably be a lot, each better than the last. It's okay to feel all these things, and I guarantee you're going to reach so many people who are feeling them too."

She smiled a tearful smile. "I'm really going to miss you."

Oliver raised from his seat to give her a final hug. "You're a very special person, and I can't wait to see the incredible things that you do."

"So are you," Adelaide smiled. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for all of this." She gestured to the checks and the key.

"You will," Oliver assured her, "I'll be looking out for that acknowledgements page."

He had a meeting planned with the Selected later in the afternoon, but he waited a few hours so that Adelaide was on her way to Sumner and wouldn't be disheartened seeing them all gather without her. When he'd been informed that she'd landed safely and been collected by the Huiskens, he sent word to the remaining five girls to meet him in a somewhat secretive area of the palace.

The girls looked confused when they walked into the tower. It was one of the more unused areas of the palace, not as renovated and showing its age. It looked like something out of a medieval castle, which Oliver found ridiculous considering the palace had been built by Gregory Illéa only a few generations ago. He supposed it was just a testament to the Illéas' dramatics.

He sat on a table with a number of books stacked in front of him. They were books that he'd read in his early adolescence when his preparations to take over for his mother had been ramped up. Flags stuck out of them in different places, marking the passages that had been shared with him and that he now intended to share with the girls, one of which would rule by his side as queen.

It had taken him a while to get to this point, but as he considered the five girls in the room, he knew that he trusted them all implicitly. There was no one that he was concerned would run to the media with the juicy gossip or whose opinion of him would be swayed by the actions of his predecessors. He was a little nervous—which he'd expected, considering some of these secrets he hadn't even shared with people like Elijah and Everly—but only to see their reactions.

They filed out onto the seats before him, and once they were settled, Oliver cleared his throat. "So, I know that you all know basic Illéan history," he allowed, "but today, I wanted to share some more… lesser known things with you guys." There were more confused faces, and he held up one of the old, leather bound books. "This is Gregory Illéa's diary," he announced, "He's like my… great times six grand-uncle, and I'm gonna warn you guys: he wasn't a great dude."

"I don't really know about the way that Illéa was formed and initially ruled. If I'm being honest, the circumstances were a little suspicious," admitted Oliver with a frown, "But I know what kind of king I want to be, and it's not this. I want to be someone who looks out for my country, who fights _for_ them, because I really do love Illéa. I think the Selection helped to remind me of that. Yeah, ruling is going to be hard, and it's intimidating, and sometimes, it really does feel like a burden—but these feelings are normal. You're going to feel them, I'm going to feel them, we're probably going to feel them together somedays. But I just want you to see how far we've come, and know that as king, I plan to take Illéa even further."

He held a book out to each of them—some diaries, some history books that had been confiscated when the Illéas had taken power and hadn't been released for public consumption yet. They contained information that was damning and embarrassing, and Oliver tried not to think about the things that they were reading as he struggled through a progress report on Pacifica that had been delivered to his desk that morning while the girls perused the different books.

After he'd read the same paragraph four times, he gave up. Luckily, a timid Rosalie had glanced up at him around the same time. She was holding a diary. "Uh… if you had more than one child… would you marry them off for political alliances?" she asked.

The other girls paused their reading and turned to look at Oliver too. "No," he answered quickly, "That's definitely something that we've moved away from. My uncle Ahren only married my aunt Camille because he loved her, which just so happened to be politically advantageous."

Kaitlyn was the next to frown. "Gregory Illéa sounds a bit like a…"

"A dictator," Mae concluded for her.

"Yeah," agreed Oliver.

"Do you think you'd ever move away from a monarchy?" Mae added.

Oliver shrugged. "If the people wanted it. But something very drastic would have to cause it. Transitory governments create difficult situations for the people."

"People really bought their castes in the beginning?" Patricia asked, her arched eyebrows cutting sharp lines in her forehead. "Does stuff like that still happen?"

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "I'd like to think not within the palace," he explained, "I think that we pick the people who are qualified and best equipped to help us with the job. But I know that there are situations where families in the provinces that have always had money tend to maintain their power with that money."

"Well, at least your grandparents helped to weaken the patriarchy when they made your mother their heir," noted Mae. "If you had a girl first, would you make her the heir over any younger sons?"

Oliver considered the question. It was something he'd always wondered himself, not because he thought that a girl was unfit to rule—his mother had certainly disproved that—but because he'd always questioned whether it was a duty that should be dropped on the eldest child automatically. "I don't care whether the Schreaves maintain rule," he admitted, "Whether it be an older daughter, a younger son, a cousin, or someone else entirely, I just want to make my heir the person who is best fit for the job."

The girls seemed pleased with his answer, small smiles greeting him. Margaery shut her book. "I think I know all I need to know about the monarchy and our future king," she declared, her smile proud.

The others followed suit. "Not that it wasn't interesting," noted Patricia as she stacked her book back on the table, "I mean, damn, Oliver, your ancestors were their own soap opera."

"Tell me about it," he snorted, "Did anyone get to the part where the queen is suspected to have poisoned her husband to marry Porter Schreave?"

"Me!" squeaked Kaitlyn, "I was hoping we were going to talk about that, because good lord, people." The group laughed.

Before they reached the door of the tower, Oliver paused. "I know that some of the stuff you read today was heavy," he admitted, "and maybe a little disenchanting. So, if anyone wants to leave, I won't be mad. Sad, for sure, but I'll understand and respect your wishes."

There was a moment of silence, but each girl seemed resolute. "Looks like you're stuck with us," noted Patricia, "Now, can we get some food or something? We need to lighten this mood somehow." The group nodded their agreement, so the six made their way to the kitchen for a late lunch.

As they descended through the castle, Oliver fell into step by Kaitlyn. "How are you doing?" he asked, quietly so the other girls wouldn't notice. He assumed she'd told Mae about the library, but if the others didn't know, he wasn't going to be the one to spread it around.

The smile that Kaitlyn returned was one of the warmest he'd received from her in a long time. "I'm doing a lot better," she assured him, "but thanks for checking up." She absentmindedly tugged at something near the neck of her sweater, and Oliver realized it was a necklace he'd never seen before.

He reached out for it, making Kaitlyn jump. It was a small, sparkly compass hung on a white gold chain. "Christmas present?" he asked as he examined the piece.

"Uh, yeah," smiled Kaitlyn, "A bit late, but yeah."

"From your mom?" Oliver asked. A compass seemed like something the kindhearted Mrs. Davis would send her daughter in the event that Kaitlyn was ever feeling lost.

Kaitlyn fidgeted. "No," she countered, "Just from a friend."

Oliver didn't have time to get curious though, because they group arrived in the kitchen, and the chefs immediately burst into a flurry of activity while the he and the Selected settled around an island. He was glad to find that they didn't seem to linger on the misdeeds of the earlier monarchs. However, their new topic—the approaching New Year's Eve celebrations—didn't quite alleviate Oliver's nervousness either.

There were only five days until New Year's Eve. After that, a mere week before the New Asian New Year. He knew that Tae's deadline wasn't definite—the prince would surely understand if Oliver hadn't chosen a wife by then—but it was something that Oliver had been obsessing over in his mind. He wanted to start the year—or at least the New Asian year—with the girl he would spend the rest of his life with. He wanted it to be year one of forever.

Although he hadn't had anything planned earlier in the day, as they finished up their sandwiches, he felt reinvigorated by his deadline and nudged Mae with his elbow. "Come with me?" he asked.

"Of course," she smiled. The other girls pretended not to notice as the two slipped quietly out of the kitchen, but Oliver noticed a few disappointed eyes follow them.

As soon as they were alone, Oliver reached for Mae's hand. She smiled and laced her fingers with his. "Where are we going?" she asked, a note of excitement in her voice.

Oliver racked his brain for an idea. The palace had a plethora of resources, but he'd never been the best with coming up with a romantic afternoon at the drop of a hat. Finally, a long-forgotten room sprang to mind. "Follow me," he declared as he led her on an adventure to the eastern wing of the palace. It was where most of the royal children's studies had taken place and also home to their current destination: a planetarium.

The room was dark and unsuspecting when they arrived. "Are we watching a movie?" Mae inquired as she took a seat in one of the plush, reclining chairs.

"Hang on," requested Oliver. He headed towards the control room, hoping that he still remembered how to operate the show. He hadn't been to the planetarium in years, but he'd been obsessed with it for a time as a child. His science tutor had showed him how to work it when he'd grown tired of Oliver sending for him every evening.

When the voice of the narrator burst to life, Oliver grinned triumphantly and raced down the stairs from the control room back towards Mae. He fell into the seat beside her and leaned back, putting an arm around her to pull her into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder as they gazed up. "A planetarium?" she asked, her tone lilting up in excitement.

"Ever been?" Oliver asked.

"Once, with my parents when I was younger," she answered. "You?"

"Oh, I'm basically an astronomy whiz," declared Oliver, "Get ready to be amazed."

The show was one of Oliver's favorites. It focused on constellations and stars, and although he was sure that Mae knew the basic stories behind the constellations, she still let Oliver recite them and interject fun facts on certain stars. At the end of the show, all the constellations lit up at once and gave the viewers the chance to languish under the stars for a while.

Oliver turned away from the stars, surprised to find Mae already looking at him. "Why do you like stars so much?" she asked.

His brow furrowed. "I've never thought about it before," he admitted.

"You know most of the stars that we see are already dead," pointed out Mae. She glanced back at the display. "A beautiful graveyard."

"I don't think it matters whether they're dead or not," he countered, "They existed at one point and left some pretty incredible things behind. I think that's part of the reason I like them. They've had an impact on humanity for thousands of years."

There was a smile in her eyes as she tore her eyes from the sky to look at him. "Is that the kind of king you want to be?" she asked. "Have a great impact on humanity?"

Oliver blushed as he considered the question. If he was being honest, the answer was yes, but it seemed arrogant to admit to such a thing. "I want to be a good kind," he shrugged, "the kind that people like and benefit from. Not the kind that they're like 'damn, can this guy die so whoever's up next can take over?'"

Mae laughed. "I don't think you could ever be that kind of king."

"I don't know," shrugged Oliver, "As the media so kindly reminded us almost daily before the Selection, I have a pretty wicked selfish streak."

"You're not that Oliver anymore," she retorted simply.

"No," agreed Oliver as absentmindedly started dragging his fingers through her wavy brown hair. "I don't suppose I am."

Mae smiled. "So, why this show?" she asked. "Of all the astronomical topics out there, why'd you choose constellations?"

Oliver hesitated. "Promise not to laugh?"

"Scout's honor," pledged Mae, her eyes gleaming in anticipation.

Oliver took a breath, eager to get it all out in a rush. "I guess I like that they're sort of the ultimate grand romantic gesture. A lot of the stories are about epic loves or their stars are named for lost soulmates or things like that. You don't make up a constellation for someone you feel lackluster about." His fingers paused in their path through her silky hair as he glanced down at her. "Is that dumb?"

He might've imagined it, but it felt like she shifted a little closer. "No," Mae decided, "I like that too."

Sitting there in the darkness of the planetarium with the one of the people that Oliver had grown most comfortable around, he almost said it. It was on the forefront of his mind: _I would name a constellation for you._ But there were so many factors, so many complications, and Oliver supposed if he was perfectly honest with himself, what he felt scared him a little.

Luckily, Mae had never been a timid girl. Her strength was part of her beauty, and when she said it first, Oliver was hardly even surprised. This time, she did tighten the previously lazy embrace that her arms held around his torso. "I would make up a constellation for you," she declared, her smile vibrant. Whatever she felt, she was clearly not scared.

Her words had a soothing effect on them, and before Oliver could even remember his fears, he announced, "I would too." Any response that she might've had after that was lost to his kiss.

He another hour in the planetarium with Mae. They didn't talk much or kiss much, but instead just sat there with each other as they took in the fabricated night sky. He could've stayed much longer, but eventually he tore himself away from her and decided to try to get some work done. When he walked into his study, he was surprised to see his mom awaiting him, armed with her trusty planner. "Did you change your mind and decide to lock me in the dungeon?" he frowned as he seated himself at his desk.

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you treat me like some dragon mother?" she inquired. "Might I remind you that any time you were grounded in your youth was your father's doing?"

"Kile Woodwork-Schreave, covert authoritarian," quipped Oliver. "I like it. We should get it added to his title."

She tried to hold back her grin. "I'll bring it up at the next council meeting," Eadlyn decided jokingly, "I'm actually here though because I heard you sent Lady Adelaide home."

"Yeah," confirmed Oliver.

"So, that means there are five Ladies left."

"Spot on math, Mom," he noted.

Eadlyn settled herself into a chair across from him. "I think it's time I met with them," she declared.

Oliver's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I didn't know an interrogation was part of the Selection."

"It's _not_ an interrogation," she retorted, "Think of it as a friendly chat." Her tone was definitive, and it was certainly more of an already made decision than a suggestion.

Oliver shrugged. "Uh, okay. They're probably in the Women's Room, if you wanted to go now?"

"No," declined Eadlyn. She removed her reading glasses from her nose and leaned back in her chair. "Your father seems to be under the impression that you're very serious about all five of the remaining ladies."

"I like to think I've tried to be serious about everyone up until this point," Oliver replied a little defensively, "but yeah, everyone here is pretty much the real deal."

"Well, I want to really get to know them then," explained Eadlyn.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "And…?"

There was a moment where she seemed to consider playing it off and insisting that there was no ulterior motive, but given their strained relationship of late, Eadlyn shrugged it off. "And, as queen, I reserve the right to determine whether I think the serious candidates for your consort are appropriate for the role. There are some concerns that have been raised by my own council, so I would like to investigate them myself."

He wanted to be mad at her reasoning, but even given the preexisting tension, he couldn't. One thing that he'd been sure about throughout the entire process of the Selection was that he couldn't pick someone he didn't think would be happy as or dedicated to being queen. But while he'd had small questions in the beginning, he was pretty sure that no matter who he picked, he'd end up with a phenomenal queen, so he shrugged in agreement. "Sure."

"Good." Eadlyn pulled out her scheduling book in a business-like fashion. "How about Tuesday? I can fit in Lady Rosalie at nine, Lady Patricia at eleven-thirty, Lady Kaitlyn at two, Lady Margaery at four, and Lady Mae at seven-thirty." When she'd finished filling in the last time slot, she snapped the book shut and raised her gaze to her son. "What?"

"No appointment cards?" he quipped.

She rolled her eyes. "One day, darling, you'll realize that this job can only be done with extreme organization."

"If organization is part of the job, I'm going to crash and burn," he remarked.

"Well, you know what they say," Eadlyn declared as she stood, "Those who can't organize hire a staff of aides to do it for them. Let the girls know, Ol. Next Tuesday."


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Note:** Bittersweet chapter. Only 5 or 6 left (I'm not sure yet because I'm indecisive). As always, thanks for all of your support.

* * *

"It occurred to me that I didn't give you a Christmas present," Oliver announced.

Jonathan snorted but didn't bother to look away from his newspaper. "Better than the year you got me a jet pack," he mused.

"In my defense, I thought that it was going to add a little zest to your image," retorted the prince. "But that's beside the point. It turns out I do have something for you."

A single, dark eyebrow quirked in Jonathan's tan face. "Is that right?"

Oliver pulled a letter that he'd drafted and had approved by his mother that morning from his pocket. He held it out to Jonathan, who looked suspicious. "If this is another invitation to spring break in the south of France—"

"Good times," sighed Oliver with a thought to his past excursions, "but would you just read it?"

Still looking wary, Jonathan reached out for the paper. His eyes scanned it, slowly widening as the weight of the offer settled upon him. "Is this a serious proposal?" he asked, eyes jumping to Oliver.

"Signed off on by the queen," Oliver pointed out. "It might be a year or two before Captain Lestrade retires, but when he does, you, Jonathan Kaholo, will be captain of the Royal Guard. If you want."

"Wow." Jonathan read through the document once more, his brow furrowed. "I don't know what to say."

It wasn't the reaction that he had expected, so Oliver nervously offered, "You don't have to accept."

"No," countered Jonathan, "It's really an incredible honor. I never thought that someone like me… Well, I just mean Captain Lestrade comes from such a well-known military family with his dad being captain of the guard, and I didn't. It's just…" He shrugged. "I kind of like being your guard. I know I give you shit a lot—warranted, of course—but I guess I would kind of miss it."

Part of Oliver wanted to tease his gargantuan sidekick about how the older man had come to care for him despite all the nonsense that Oliver tended to engage in, but he knew that if he did he'd never receive another compliment from Jonathan so long as he lived, so he held it in. "Well, you would have your own staff," Oliver pointed out, "so you'd have time to retain your duties as my guard."

This news seemed to have an impact on the guard. "Wow," he repeated.

"Is this a good wow, bad wow?" Oliver frowned. "Give me something, Jonathan."

After a brief hesitation, Jonathan explained, "I was never sure if being your guard was going to be my life. I sort of… hoped it wasn't in the beginning."

"And now?" prompted Oliver, hoping for different news. He'd hate to hear that he was the sort of person who made someone count the days to retirement.

"Honestly?" Jonathan asked. His face had a grim set that made Oliver a little nervous, but the prince nodded. "I changed my mind when Sara left. Without her, all I really have is this job."

The mention of Sara's departure made Oliver frown. He hadn't spoken with his Russian friend since her departure, although he'd heard through the grapevine that her plane had landed safely. "It might not be the future you imagined yourself having, but you've got something here, Jonathan," Oliver pointed out. He gave a self-conscious little shrug, since he wasn't sure how much his next attempt at consolation was going to be worth. "You've got me."

Jonathan gave a small laugh. "And you've got me," he rejoined, "I'd be honored to be the captain of the guard." He held his hand out, which Oliver enthusiastically shook.

"I think we're having a bit of a moment here, Jonathan," Oliver declared.

Jonathan retracted his hand. "And it's over."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I have to get ready for the opening of the conservation center anyway," he announced.

After months of carefully curated work, the research and conservation center that Dr. Phineas had been placed in charge of had reached completion. Its official opening was that afternoon, and as the lead funder and supporter, Oliver had been invited to help christen the Woodwork Wildlife Conservation Center and Botanical Gardens. He'd decided to invite Margaery to come with him, since it had been the background for their first date, and it seemed like a good chance for them to work past the Kaleb Ayers debacle.

When he was dressed in a more casual suit, since it was an afternoon appearance, he met Margaery in the entrance hall. She beamed as he approached her. "Thanks for inviting me," she greeted him, "I'm really exciting."

"Of course," Oliver replied.

"This feels really official," Margaery noted as they headed outside to their car.

He swallowed. "Well, it is an official appearance," he allowed, "but I just thought it would be a fun thing for us to do. It's come a long way from even just a few months ago. And I thought you'd like to check in on Seymour."

"Of course," she smiled. She didn't look daunted by the press or public that awaited them. In fact, she looked perfectly at ease in her white, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress. Oliver tried to see her the way that the cameras and strangers awaiting them would. She looked the part of a perfect princess. Even her red tinged hair, pulled into a braided, half-up style, seemed to be awaiting a crown.

She didn't snuggle close to him in the car as some of the other girls did. Instead, she sat straight in her seat as her eyes took in the sights of Angeles that flashed by on their way to the center. But when Oliver reached for her hand tentatively, a warm smile slid over her lips, and she returned the light pressure of his hand.

When their car slowed to a standstill, Oliver paused to take a deep breath. "Are you ready?" he asked. He could already see the lights of cameras and hear the din of reporters.

Margaery, for her part, looked excited. "Yes," she confirmed.

Jonathan opened Oliver's door, and the prince quickly rounded the car to open Margaery's before Jonathan could show him up in the chivalry department, as his guard occasionally did. The screaming intensified when people realized that Oliver had brought one of the Selected with him, and Oliver soon heard questions about whether this meant that he'd chosen Margaery, which made him a little uncomfortable considering the fact that he hadn't made any decisions yet.

While Margaery smiled politely at the cameras and reporters, she didn't speak with them, and the only time she paused was by a group of children that had gathered behind the barrier near the conversation's center's entrance. She did speak to them, bending so that she was eyelevel with them and smiling for pictures whenever a camera or phone were shoved towards her face. Oliver joined her to a hushed chorus of, "It's the prince!" from the children.

They all scrambled to bow or curtsey, which Oliver found adorable and hilarious. "Is Margaery going to be queen?" one of the girls, who couldn't have been older than seven, asked politely.

The other kids giggled. Margaery smiled as Oliver floundered, desperately searching his brain for a diplomatic response. "Queen Eadlyn is the queen right now, remember?" Margaery pointed out, "The best queen, in fact."

The children began talking over each other excitedly in agreement, and Oliver snorted as he directed Margaery into the center. "Nice save," he complimented.

As the director of the program, Phineas met them inside. "It's great to see you both again!" he exclaimed excitedly, "What do you think?"

"It looks awesome from what I've seen so far," Oliver assured him, "I definitely want to look around when we're done here."

A photographer appeared and requested a photo for the center's newsletter, and while the three turned towards the camera, Phineas continued explaining the new additions out of the corner of his mouth. It was one of the things that Oliver liked so much about the young scientist. The business side and politics he could handle, but it was the center that Phineas really cared about.

Phineas and Oliver both gave brief speeches before they let Margaery cut the ceremonial giant ribbon that signified the center's official opening. It was something Oliver had done millions of times as a child so it seemed a little blasé to him at this point, but Margaery did it with a beautiful smile, so he figured it counted as a win for the both of them.

After his speech, they were forced into the dreaded mingling. It didn't feel as torturous with someone by his side, and he was glad to see that Margaery easily engaged in conversation with the board members and funders. They were people that she understood, and she had an ability to tolerate their egos that didn't come naturally to most people.

"You're Orion Seymour's girl, aren't you?" an older man on the board of directors inquired.

"Yes," she smiled, "Margaery. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wishfort. I've read all about the work that you're doing with renewable energy sources and found it amazing."

The old man looked flattered. "What a lovely companion you've found, Your Highness," he declared jovially.

Oliver forced a smile, already wearied by the small talk. "Indeed."

They continued to talk about the Wishfort business endeavors—and how Mr. Wishfort thought it would be interesting to have future conversations with Margaery's own businessman father—until Oliver noticed a familiar but surprising face across the room. "Excuse me," he mumbled as he stepped away. He heard Margaery offer an excuse and felt her at his side as he crossed the room.

He'd been unsure of his eyes at first, but his face lit up when the springy curls turned in his direction and the chocolatey eyes beamed at him. "Presley?"

"Ollie!" she grinned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked excitedly as he pulled Presley into a hug. Margaery hung back, looking the slightest bit annoyed.

The coconut smell of her curly hair enveloped him as Presley hugged him back. "I'm here for New Year's!" she explained. "I'm on a break from school for the holidays, so Isolde invited me to come visit. And I've been dying to check this place out, so when Isolde mentioned it was opening today, I decided to come. I love reindeer, and I heard they have a pair here." Presley smiled at Margaery but didn't move to embrace her.

"I'm surprised I didn't see you at the wedding," noted Oliver.

Presley frowned. "It was the worst torture. I had makeup exams from the time that I took off for the Selection, so I was busy right down until Christmas eve. I video-chatted with Isolde while she was getting ready though and have seen only a million pictures."

"Well, while you two are catching up, I think I'm going to go grab a drink," Margaery announced. Oliver nodded and noticed that she looked a little disappointed when he didn't move to join her.

"I think she's upset I've crashed your date," chortled Presley. "Sorry."

Oliver shrugged. "Don't worry about it," he countered instantly, "We've… Uh… things have just been tense, I guess."

"I heard you've turned into a bit of a brawler while I've been away," snorted Presley. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hopefully keep me in line," rejoined Oliver with his own chuckle. "He deserved it though, I swear."

Presley nodded knowingly. "So, are things okay with you and Marg now?"

Oliver's eyes wandered over to where Margaery was talking with some of the members of the board. She was poised, engaging, and radiant. But he was still working through the feelings that the whole Kaleb Ayers mess had brought up, and he didn't feel the same closeness to her as usual. "We're getting there," he replied, his tone indicating that he didn't want to linger on the topic.

"This is amazing," Presley added as she glanced around the arboretum. "I didn't know that you were doing such cool things. I thought you were just off being the party prince."

Oliver snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he quipped, "but if I'm being honest, Phineas deserves most of the credit."

"He's the biologist that was speaking earlier, right?" Presley asked. "He seems so young to be in charge of all of this."

"Yeah, I think he's around twenty-five," shrugged Oliver, "He's brilliant though. Here, come on. I'll introduce you."

After a quick scan of the area, Oliver located Phineas in a secluded corner. Even in his suit for the opening, he had a spray bottle and a clipboard in one hand and bent over a few plants as though to make sure that the excessive number of people present hadn't injured them in any way. "Phin," Oliver greeted him, causing the tall, lanky man to jump and almost tumble into a cactus.

He sprang to his feet and beamed. "Your Highness!" He pushed up his glasses and glanced down at Presley, reminding Oliver of the introduction he was supposed to be making.

"Pres, this is Phin," he announced, "Phineas, Presley."

"You can call me Henry," Phineas offered as he held his hand out for Presley. Oliver frowned in confusion. He hadn't realized Phineas was his last name.

"I was just telling Oliver how amazing this place is," Presley commented. She looked less sure of herself than usual and her fingers were doing an odd tap dance routine against the side of her leg. Oliver's eyebrows furrowed. Was she… nervous?

Phineas' face lit up in response. "I could show you some things, if you were interested," he offered. "We have some beautiful _Echinopsis cactaceae_ right now. Oh! Or I could show you the _Omphalotus japonicus!_ "

"Moon light mushrooms?" Presley translated, her voice more animated than it usually was when she was speaking with Oliver.

"You know plants?" Phineas looked like he was about to pass out from excitement.

"Just a little," Presley admitted, "I read a lot."

"I don't get it," interjected Oliver, "What's so special about these mushrooms?"

At the same time, Presley and Phineas replied, "They're bioluminescent."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Okay, nerds," he declared, "I'll leave you to your glow in the dark mushrooms." Still thoroughly engaged in conversation, the two disappeared from the arboretum, and Oliver decided to get himself another glass of champagne.

Margaery joined him at the bar. "Who would have thought?" she chuckled.

"Thought what?" frowned Oliver as he sipped at the bubbly drink.

"Presley and Dr. Phineas."

Oliver frowned. "That they were such big plant geeks? Honestly, not that big of a surprise."

The bell-like laugh made Oliver think she wasn't just talking about their interest in glowing fungi, and Oliver raised his eyebrows as he thought about it. He supposed it made sense for Presley and Phineas to be attracted to each other. Presley was beautiful, and Oliver had no qualms in admitting that Phineas was charming. And they were both smarter than anyone else that Oliver knew. But it was odd to see his Selected begin to have lives after him.

"Oh, wow," he commented as he thought about it. "Didn't see that coming."

Margaery shrugged. "He seems more Presley's speed," she decided.

"More so than me?" Oliver chuckled.

"Another you would probably drive Pres crazy," Margaery agreed with a laugh. "Poor girl only has so much patience."

"And you?" he prompted.

"I have endless patience," Margaery declared with a smile. She set her champagne glass down and glanced around. "Do you want to take a walk? We haven't gotten to check in on Schreave and Seymour yet."

"Sure," he agreed. He tossed back the rest of his drink and offered his arm to Margaery, who accepted it.

As they made their way through the conservation, Oliver noticed that they were both more silent than usual. It was probably a result of the Kaleb situation, but he realized that he didn't like it. Regardless though, as he racked his brain, he couldn't think of a natural way to end the silence.

Luckily, the snow leopards weren't too far away. "Wow," commented the prince, "They've gotten bigger."

"I guess a lot can change in four months," Margaery noted. She pointed out one of the cubs. The cubs had more than doubled in size, their fur changed from its cute fluffiness to a new sleek elegance. "That one's Seymour."

"How can you tell?" wondered Oliver. He'd been clueless as to which was named for his mother.

"I remembered his spotted nose," she explained. A smile tugged at her face, and Oliver remembered how excited she had been on their first date when Phineas had let them into the snow leopard's enclosure. He remembered how he had felt too. Their relationship had been new and exciting, with a natural ease. But she was right. A lot can change in four months.

If Margaery was thinking about the same thing, she didn't mention it. Instead, she looked around. "I think there was a fountain somewhere around here," she remarked.

After a moment of thought, Oliver remembered the piece she was thinking of. "This way."

It was a large, stone fountain with a pool full of lily pads and clear water. Margaery stepped up to the edge of it. "Make a wish with me?" she asked, her light eyes full of sparkle.

Oliver frowned and patted his pockets. "Crux of being royalty," he chuckled, "No change. Apparently, we're not supposed to jingle."

"I have a little something else." Margaery opened her black clutch purse and dug around for a moment before she produced a glittering diamond ring.

The prince eyed the ring tentatively. "Is that…?"

Margaery nodded. "I kept it after the engagement fell apart," she explained, "I think it was sort of a reminder."

"Of?" prompted Oliver.

She shrugged weakly. "A mistake? The penance that I was paying for it?" She shook her head. "I'm not sure. But I'm ready to get over it. I want to let go of the past, and I want to move forward." Her eyes locked with his, and she smiled one of those perfect, crooked Margaery smiles that made Oliver feel at ease. "I want to move forward with you," she clarified.

The New Year's deadline weighed on him once more as Oliver took a step towards Margaery. "You know this might be the most ostentatious thing ever wished on, right?" he teased.

"Yes," giggled Margaery, "And I promptly expect someone to steal it out of the fountain. I just hope whoever they are, they need it."

He studied her aristocratic face. "Thank you," he blurted out before he'd realized it.

"For what?" Margaery asked, confused.

His stomach churned as it caught up with his thoughts. "I'm not… ignorant of the fact that being queen would be a sacrifice for whoever I pick," he explained, "and I know that just being here throughout the Selection has had its own challenges. And I know that sometimes, my reactions don't make me the most pleasant person to be around. So, I guess, just… thanks. For not giving up. For working with me."

"Thank you too," she replied. "I know I should've told you about the Kaleb thing sooner, and I really wish I would have."

He took the hand that held the engagement ring. "Let's do this," he declared, "Time to let go of the past." She beamed and nodded her agreement. They turned so their backs were to the fountain, and on the count of three, sent the ring careening into the pool of water. Oliver turned back towards it, watching as it sank to the bottom and thinking of his wish.

They spent another hour at the party before Oliver realized that he had to get back to the palace for his date with Patricia—which he elected not to tell Margaery about, considering her earlier response when they'd been interrupted by Presley. Although he was beginning to get a little anxious about the eminent end of the Selection, one of the things that he was not going to miss was juggling multiples dates in a single day. He'd never realized how exhausting trying to make someone like him could be.

He'd been careful in planning the date for Patricia. One of his worries was that they were too good of friends, and they'd reached the place where they couldn't look at each other romantically any longer. So, using a few romantic movies for inspiration, he'd compiled a real humdinger, if he did say so himself.

Patricia had been excited when he'd sent her a note with an invitation to the date, which he took as a good sign. Given the intensity of his time with Margaery earlier in the day, Oliver found he was also looking forward to spending time with Patricia. Of the girls left, their relationship was one of the least complicated. He knew that he'd have a good time with her and that it was highly unlikely that she had any skeletons that would come banging out of the closet.

His only instruction to her had been to dress up, because most of their interactions had been casual. She answered the door of her room herself, and Oliver's initial reaction a single word: "Wow."

She beamed. "I'm going to take that as a good wow," she decided. She was dressed in a cobalt blue, strapless gown with a full, cascading skirt. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and her eye make-up was a little smokier, making her green eyes pop.

"Definitely a good wow," Oliver confirmed.

"So, where are we going tonight?" Patricia asked.

Their destination was the Angeles Museum of Art. Oliver had thought about taking Patricia there when he first learned how much she'd liked photography. Perhaps because of its closeness to the hub of the nation, the museum was one of the most expansive in Illéa. Its collection ranged from classical paintings to modern, interactive pieces by up and coming artists.

The museum had been shut down just for them, and without any other people, it looked enormous when they walked in. "Is this just for us?" Patricia asked as she glanced around. "That's so cool."

"So, any idea where to first?" asked Oliver. "Usually, I like to take it chronologically."

"Sounds like you're the expert," remarked Patricia with a smile. She gestured ahead, and Oliver noticed the way she didn't reach for his hand like the others might. "I'm just following you."

He led her through the museum at a leisurely pace, pointing out his favorites. While Oliver had always thought himself to be a pretty modern guy, Patricia noted as he gave her random facts about different pieces that he seemed to prefer more traditional art types, which he found interesting.

He did admittedly get excited as they neared the more modern areas because of a surprise that he'd carefully orchestrated. "This one," Oliver declared, "is by a rather new artist. She's great though, so keep an eye out for her."

In the middle of its own wall was a large photo. It had been placed in a simple frame so that most of the attention stayed on the subject. It was a simple picture of four girls, most of the figures shaded by the evening light. It had been taken under a tree as a sunset illuminated the palace grounds. The four lone figures each had an arm draped around each other as they faced the sky. Next to the portrait, on the same kind of nameplate that boasted names like Leonardo Da Vinci and Picasso, was a small tag that read, "'Happiness' by P. Aldridge."

Patricia was speechless as she stepped forward to trace a finger around the plate, as though making sure that it was real. "Wow." The corners of her eyes crinkled in happiness as she glanced around. "I never thought I'd see something of mine in a place like this."

"I wanted to give you that feeling," admitted Oliver, "And since I have a bit of sway with the curator, I asked if I could put it up for the night."

"Thank you," she smiled. "It's incredibly motivating."

Oliver grinned in excitement. "But we have a problem."

Patricia frowned. "What?"

"The curator loved it," explained Oliver, "and now he won't stop pestering me to see if the artist would be interested in selling."

Patricia's eyes widened before she declared, "If this is a joke, I'm going to punch you."

With a brief laugh, Oliver shook his head. "I wouldn't put myself in danger like that. You'll find that I'm far too interested in self-preservation."

Patricia opened and shut her mouth a few times before she laughed. "I don't know what to say," she admitted, and instead, she threw her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it," Oliver assured her as he hugged her back. Her body was soft against his, and he realized that it was the closest the pair had been since he'd kissed her in the barn.

She pulled away a beat later. "The only thing that could make this better is maybe like a churro or something."

Oliver laughed. "Well, I can't do much on the churro front, but I've got the 'or something' covered."

He'd had dinner set up on one of the balconies that overlooked the city, and he was glad that the weather had cooperated with the romantic picture he'd had in his mind. The night air was warmer than it usually was so late in December, and from their seats, they could see the sparkling lights of the city, as well as the distant glow from the palace. The soft strains of music that had filled the museum wafted out of the French doors, and Patricia seemed to notice it as Oliver pulled her seat out for her.

"How did you know I love Debussy?" she asked, somewhat suspiciously.

Oliver blushed. "I might've asked around," he admitted.

He'd also asked about her favorite foods, which now filled the table (minus churros, apparently). They helped themselves, and Patricia looked pleased, although Oliver was a little worried about the questions that had been lingering in his brain in regards to his relationship with Patricia. "This sounds a little conceited," Oliver recognized, "but what's your favorite thing about me?"

Patricia laughed, putting a hand over her mouth. "Just a little," she acknowledged, "but I don't know, I guess I'm just always in a good mood around you? We get along well."

"We do," agreed Oliver. His answer was similar. He felt like it was impossible to have a bad time with Patricia.

"If this thing goes to the end, have you thought about the wedding?" continued Oliver as he worked through his spaghetti.

Patricia shrugged. "Not really, but I was never one of those girls who had ever detail of their wedding mapped out. I guess that's what the planning and engagement are for."

Oliver elected not to mention that royal engagements were usually short, less than six months. "What about kids?" he asked.

This time, her laugh was a little uncomfortable. "I mean, one day," she replied, "but I don't think I'm really ready like right now." She paused. "Do you want kids soon?"

Oliver shrugged. "I always figured I'd have them before I took the crown," he admitted, "which could be as soon as five years or as far out as fifteen. I don't know."

Patricia nodded thoughtfully, although she looked a little concerned. Oliver decided it was enough questions for the moment, and in an attempt at distraction, he asked, "So, did you see the Lions game last weekend?"

They spent the rest of dinner in a more comfortable conversation, talking about things that weren't scary and didn't make them feel any serious emotions. When they'd finished dessert, Oliver stood and held a hand out to Patricia. "One more thing I want to show you," he declared excitedly. It was one of the things that he'd been looking forward to the most.

They headed towards one of the lower levels of the museum. "Close your eyes," Oliver requested. Patricia gave him a nervous look but complied, and he guided her into the room. After he'd turned everything on, he declared, "Open them."

It was an incredible installation project. The room was entirely black, only illuminated by string lights and hanging circular objects—main plates from watches. The lights bounced off the metal frames and gave the room a magical feel. Oliver also liked the title of the project: "Light is Time." There was something about it that felt poignant to the Selection. Timing was important and something they had no control over.

"This is so cool," Patricia grinned as she walked through the tinkling watch foundations. She brushed a strand with her hand, and they chimed together.

"There's supposed to be 80,000 watch frames," Oliver explained, remembering what the curator had told him about the project.

"Wow. Can you imagine being the person that has to smash 80,000 watches?" she chuckled.

"Sounds kind of stress-relieving," Oliver noted, and Patricia laughed again.

He made sure to point out the things that the curator had showed him, such as the pocket watch from the 1920s, and he and Patricia took their time wandering through the room. But he noticed they mostly walked apart from each other, converging on occasion but never reaching out for one another.

A frown slowly began to tug on his face, one that Patricia noticed as they met in the middle of the room. "Uh oh," she noted, her own smile turning sad.

"I really wanted tonight to be this great, romantic thing," he noted.

"It was," Patricia assured him, "in theory."

"In theory?" Oliver asked with a frown.

Her eyes danced over the watch plates for a silent minute before they settled on his face. "I don't think either of us feels the way that we want to for the rest of our lives."

"No," agreed Oliver, "I don't imagine that we do."

"I wouldn't trade this experience for anything," Patricia added quickly, "I had a great time. I made friends, and I mean, I have one of my photos in a freaking museum, and…" Her smile became a little happier. "I met you. And even thought we don't have this crazy Romeo and Juliet kind of thing, I really do care about you."

"I know what you mean," agreed Oliver. "Me too."

Patricia took a deep breath and glanced around. "So, what do you say?" she asked. "Time to get this show on the road?"

Oliver chuckled at the time joke but nodded reluctantly. She linked an arm through his and led them confidently from the room.

As they made their way from the museum, Oliver's thoughts were racing. Just because their relationship wasn't the passionate, burning type of love Oliver had been looking for didn't mean that realizing that she would be leaving soon made it any easier. He almost wished he'd dragged it out a little longer, because it certainly put a damper on the nearly perfect night in retrospect. He suspected Patricia felt similarly, because as they walked down the cobblestoned street towards the car, she elbowed him. "Why do you look like someone just ran over your dog?" she asked teasingly.

Oliver tried to laugh, but the mental image of a pancake Pip popped into his mind and didn't help his sadness. "Goodbyes suck," was all he could come up with as a response.

Patricia grimaced. "Yeah," she agreed, "There's been a lot of them the last couple of months."

"Too many," remarked Oliver.

Patricia stopped walking. "Well, this won't do," she decided, "I refuse to let my last memory of you being this sad, downtrodden embodiment of a country song."

She glanced around before her face lit up. "Come on." A moment later, she pushed him into a hole-in-the-wall pub.

The place was dimly lit and somewhat congested. Patricia and Oliver definitely did not look like the usual crowd—the demographic seemed to be mostly leather-clad bikers who were around Jonathan's stature—and their evening gown and tux called more attention to them. Instead of looking self-conscious, Patricia simply pulled on her sweater and buttoned it up to dress down her gown a little. She tugged off Oliver's bowtie, stashed it in his coat pocket, and nodded. "Cool. Let's go."

The two squeezed their way through the crowd towards the bar. The bartender eyed them suspiciously when they took a seat on two rickety stools. "What'll it be?" he asked gruffly.

While Oliver's eyes tried to quickly scan the menu, Patricia simply beamed at the man in a friendly way. "We just broke up!" she declared, "And tomorrow, I'm moving across the country back home, and he'll probably be engaged in a couple of weeks."

The bartender's eyes widened, and he wordlessly put a pair of shot glasses before them. After uncapping two beers and filling the glasses with a clear liquid, he declared, "On the house. You need it."

Patricia and Oliver clinked their glasses together before they both downed the burning liquid. "Gross," Patricia grimaced as she tried to chase the sting from her mouth with beer. "At least I know I will _not_ be drinking my sorrows away."

"Speak for yourself," snorted Oliver. "This kinda sucks."

"It's the Selection," shrugged Patricia, "It was bound to suck at some point."

"I kind of wished I didn't like any of you," Oliver admitted, "It would've made it less painful."

Patricia almost choked on her drink. "You're such a weirdo." She paused before she added, "But just think. Only a few more sucky goodbyes, and then you get to be, like, really happy for the rest of your life."

It was a nice thought. "No more Selection talk," he decided, "If this is the last time we're gonna see each other for a while, I want to talk about something better. Tell me something fun."

"Fun? Uh-oh," quipped Patricia.

"Most embarrassing moment," Oliver decided, "Go."

Patricia thought quickly on the spot. "Eighth grade spelling bee," she declared, "My word was 'organism.' When I repeated it after I spelled it, I accidentally said 'orgasm.'"

Oliver choked on his drink. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," chuckled Patricia. "Alright, your turn."

"I'm not sure if I can pin one down," Oliver noted, "There's a ton. But getting caught making out with the prime minister of Britannia's daughter in a closet was pretty embarrassing. I mean, have you seen Hardwicke? He's terrifying."

They sat at the bar swapping stories—they both had quite a few embarrassing moments and entertaining recollections—until Oliver put a hold on it to go to the bathroom. When he came back, their stools were abandoned, and he glanced around, perplexed. The bartender pointed to the other side of the room where Patricia was standing with two large bikers, the dour expressions on their bearded faces making Oliver uncomfortable. He grabbed his beer for strength and joined the fray.

"There you are," he announced as he put a hand on Patricia's shoulder. "What's, uh, what's going on?"

He was surprised to see a chess board sitting between the two men, and he had a feeling that he knew the answer before Patricia spoke. "I was just telling Lil Jim here that he's going to lose in three more moves," she remarked.

Lil Jim did not look appreciative. "And I was just telling your girlfriend here—"

"Ex," interjected Patricia and Oliver simultaneously.

Daggers were practically shooting out of Lil Jim's eyes. " _Anyway,_ unless she's some grandmaster, she better take her fancy little dress back over to that stool before I—"

As soon as Lil Jim had said it, Oliver knew what Patricia was going to respond. "But I am a grandmaster," she shrugged, "so move your rook there, not your knight, or else—"

Lil Jim's partner burst into laughter. "You're getting shown up by a little girl," he chortled.

"Shut up, Binks," snapped Lil Jim. He turned to Patricia. "You think you could beat him?"

Patricia laughed. "Of course. Even with the abysmal board you have left."

Lil Jim seemed to consider this. "No one ever beats Binks in chess," he remarked thoughtfully. "Alright, Chess Queen, you're up," he decided. "But if you lose this game…"

"Yes, yes, I imagine you'll beat up my male companion here since I assume you wouldn't hit a girl," concluded Patricia. "Move."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, I'm not too sure about this, Patricia," he noted, "I'm not really partial to being beaten up—"

Patricia gave him an affronted look. "I won't lose," was all she said.

It turned out she was right. She ended Binks in four turns, to his outrage. "Rematch," Binks demanded while Lil Jim sang the praises of their triumph to the bar, collecting quite a crowd.

Patricia shrugged. "Okay. You're still going to lose."

"No way she'll beat Binks from the start," a beefcake next to Oliver muttered.

"A round of drinks says she does," challenged Oliver.

"You're on," grinned the beefcake.

By the time the game was over, Oliver had collected his free drink from beefcake. The bar was amazed by Patricia, and Oliver watched in amusement as she entertained her new fan club of 40-year-old bikers. She was a great girl and an even better friend. In a way, he wished their friendship hadn't been so immediate. If not, things might have ended differently.

While Binks wasn't quite so pleased, Lil Jim was ecstatic at Patricia's triumph on his behalf, and as thanks, he decided to let her ride his motorcycle down the street. It didn't take Patricia more than a moment to say yes, and as they filed into the streets, Oliver was partially amazed and concerned. But nonetheless, he stood off to the side with his cell phone in his hands to document as Patricia heaved her gown onto the shiny, chrome motorcycle.

"Ten bucks says she falls," Binks declared gruffly to the group.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "She's already made a fool of you twice tonight," he pointed out, "I wouldn't bet against her again." Nonetheless, he wagered fifty on Patricia.

It was good advice, as Patricia managed to ride the bike up and down the street without incident to the cheers of her new friends. Oliver snapped a picture of her triumphantly pumping her helmet into the air, her face invigorated. It was the kind of picture she'd spent the duration of the Selection capturing for other people, and for that reason, Oliver loved it even more.

Patricia Aldridge was certainly a special girl, one that Oliver was going to miss very much.


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's Note:** Just to keep myself on the ball, I'm going to tell you guys that my goal is to start the sequel on Valentine's Day. So, expect a few updates in the next week and some change :) I hope you enjoy this chapter and want to thank everyone for the continued support. Enjoy the Super Bowl if you're watching (which is where I'm off to next. Go Falcons!)

* * *

Oliver hadn't realized just how consumed he'd been by the Selection in the last week until Celine asked him if he was excited at breakfast. A deep frown creased his brow. "Excited for what?" he asked.

Beside her, Tristan looked scandalized, and Celine looked delighted. "You forgot?" she giggled.

"Forgot _what_?" demanded Oliver as he began to panic.

"General Gauge's wedding!" Celine reminded him, "We've only been on the guest list for _months_. Even Mom is going, remember?"

He wanted to bang his head against the table. How had he forgotten something like that, especially when he'd worked so closely with the general lately? It was a pretty big deal, especially since the queen had decided to attend. She usually kept her number of social engagements low so as not to offend others when she wasn't able to attend.

"Shit," Oliver swore as he searched for a clock. The wedding started at four, and it was already ten in the morning. He had six hours to inform the Selected that they were all going to a wedding, get ready, find a gift, and make it seem like he'd been preparing for this for weeks. Gauge had also asked him if he'd like to do a reading for the wedding, so he had to search through the piles of things on his desk to find it and practice it so he didn't sound like a kindergartener stammering through their first book.

Across the table, Grandfather Maxon frowned. "Language."

"Sorry," muttered Oliver, "but damn."

His grandfather glared, and Celine put a hand over her mouth as she laughed at her older brother. "Oliver," hissed Maxon.

"Good god," frowned the prince, "what the fuck am I allowed to say?"

Maxon closed his eyes and counted to ten before he stood, collected his coffee, and left the dining room. Eadlyn sent her son a quizzical look from the head of the table, and Oliver shrugged innocently.

He turned towards the girls, who'd been talking amongst themselves and hadn't noticed the exchange between Oliver and his family. "Ladies," he beamed. All four turned to him. "It's come to my attention that I might've forgotten to tell you all that we're going to a wedding."

Their faces lit up, but Oliver could feel the heat of his mother's gaze on his back, so he prepared for his exit quickly. "Uh, by the way," he declared as he stood and collected his coffee and his unfinished omelet, "We're leaving at three o'clock today. See you all then!"

Anderson was tidying when Oliver burst into the room like a hurricane. "Hurry," he declared, "Black tie emergency."

Anderson nodded, used to Oliver's last minute antics. "When's the event?"

"Four o'clock," answered the prince.

"Today?" squeaked Anderson. When the prince nodded, he groaned. "I'll send for coffee."

If Oliver's preparation took him down to the wire, he could only imagine what the Selected's day was like. He even had the help of Celine, who picked out and wrapped his gift, and Tristan, who sat in a chair while Oliver's suit was tailored and helped him practice his reading. Around three o'clock, the royal party met outside the castle.

As Eadlyn inspected her oldest son, she seemed to want to be able to find something unsatisfactory, but ultimately, she gave a begrudging smile. "I can't believe you forgot," she noted with a shake of her head, "You talk to Gauge almost every day."

"Yeah, about guns and ships," countered Oliver, "not weddings."

As always, Kile was the last one to emerge from the palace. "Wow, looking good, Family!" he grinned as he kissed his wife on the cheek. He sighed as he inspected Oliver, Tristan, and Celine. "Aren't you glad our children weren't ugly, Eady?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes, while their children furrowed their brows at the veiled compliment. "I mean, you would've loved us anyway, right?" asked Tristan.

Kile winked dramatically. "Sure, Tris."

It was sort of a large group, so while most of his family rode together, Oliver elected to join the Selected in their limo. Even with only a few hours of notice, they all looked amazing. As he slid into the limo, he noticed they looked a little amused by him. "What?" Oliver asked.

"Did you really forget about a wedding?" she asked with a chuckle.

"Not my finest moment," acknowledged Oliver, "Let's just all make a pact not to mention it to Gauge. He has access to some very dangerous weapons."

"This is why you _need_ a wife," Margaery declared.

Oliver gave a weak laugh before he turned his attention to the window. It made him uncomfortable to talk about marriage with all the girls around. There was a part of him that was a little concerned about how awkward sitting with all four of them at a wedding was going to be, but he reminded himself that he was doing it for Gauge, who had been a good friend and an even better partner in crime during the development of Pacifica.

Because the queen tended to draw some attention, she had elected to sit in the back of the chapel with Kile, Tristan, Isolde, Celine, and all their security. Because of the reading he had to give and his general presence being an incredible honor, Oliver was given a seat in the first row with Gauge's parents, while the Selected sat in the second row behind him.

As they waited for the ceremony to start, Oliver caught snips of the girls' conversation from behind him. "Isn't this beautiful?" sighed Rosalie. "I love the flowered arch. I want something like that at my wedding."

"I think I'd like my wedding to be outside," mused Kaitlyn. "It's a beautiful church, but there's something about a garden wedding in the spring that has always sounded perfect to me."

"Whatever kind of wedding I have, I'm sure my mother will have tons of ideas," Margaery chuckled, "I'll be lucky if I get to pick anything out myself."

"I wonder if the queen will be involved in planning Oliver's…?" Rosalie asked, sounding a little nervous.

"Probably," agreed Mae, "Oliver and his mom seem pretty close."

Oliver realized that he was snooping and tried to tune them out. He was beginning to thoroughly regret attending a wedding with his four girlfriends little more than week before he hoped to pick one to marry.

"Your Highness."

He tore his attention away from eavesdropping and grinned up at Cooper Gauge. He was dressed in a tux instead of his military uniform, and he looked almost as nervous as Oliver felt. "Gauge," Oliver greeted him with a grin as he stood to shake his hand.

"I already spoke with Her Majesty, but really, I wanted to thank you guys so much for coming," he remarked, "I know it means a lot to Alana too."

"Wouldn't have missed it," Oliver declared, and he saw Jonathan repress a grin considering they almost did miss it because of Oliver's forgetfulness. "How are you feeling? Nervous at all?"

"A little," admitted Gauge as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Excited. Really glad that all of this planning is over. Pacifica has been a walk in the park compared to this."

"Maybe I'll recruit you for my wedding planning committee too when the time comes," joked Oliver.

Gauge laughed. "Not my specialty," he acknowledged, "but you know I'd be honored to serve on any committee you wanted me on, Oliver."

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck," he grinned, "I'll try not to butcher my reading."

Gauge thanked him and took his place at the altar. A short while later, an organ called the room to attention, and they all turned towards the door where Gauge's wife-to-be appeared with her father. She looked radiant, but Oliver glanced back at Gauge. The general was smiling wider than Oliver had ever seen before.

When the priest called him to the front of the room to deliver his small piece, the butterflies in his stomach started up. Oliver's reading was a passage from Victor Hugo's _Les Miserables._ He'd been a little confused when he'd started searching and Isolde has suggested the book, given its title, but he'd found a pretty good passage about love that Alana had heartily approved of when Gauge had showed it to her. He got through the presentation without a single stutter, and whether it was his flawless delivery or the fact that he was the prince, he received a polite applause from the church afterwards.

The Gauges' vows followed his reading, and although Oliver thought they were pretty standard as far as vows went, he noticed a few sniffles sounding from around him in the audience. The ceremony wasn't terribly long, and before he knew it, they were applauding the new General and Mrs. Gauge.

The reception was being held at the historic Angeles Public Library, which Oliver thought was pretty cool even though he wasn't a huge book nerd like his brother. Although he'd been to the library many times before, the elegant interior was barely recognizable when they arrived. The entire atrium had been cleared out and replaced with tables and a dancefloor, towers of white flowers ascended from the tables, and lights were hung between the numerous floors overhead. The whole effect was soft and romantic.

Dinner was held first, during which Oliver sat with his family while the Selected were seated nearby. Afterwards, he followed his parents to give their congratulations to the Gauges and greet a few important guests before he was released from his obligations for the night, remarkably early as far as social engagement standards went.

While his parents were busy mingling, Oliver noticed Tristan and Celine sitting together at the table that had been reserved for the royal family. Isolde had been present for the ceremony, but since she was still recovering from her injuries, she'd returned to the palace before the reception. Oliver realized that he couldn't remember the last time he'd spent time with both of his siblings simultaneously, so he made his way to the table and took a seat next to Celine.

"Why are you guys hiding out over here?" he teased.

Celine made a face. "Governor Castor just kept mentioning how he has a grandson my age that I'd get along with _so_ well with, so I thought I would attend to my poor, injured older brother instead of socializing," she explained.

Tristan held up his casted arm. "I'm the injured older brother."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Nice wedding, huh?"

"It's so beautiful! I wish the library could always look like this," sighed Celine. "And Alana looked _gorgeous_."

Tristan grinned. "Alana or Gauge?"

When Celine's face turned pink, both brothers started to laugh. "Wait, what have I been missing out on?" Oliver demanded. "Do you have a crush on—"

"NO," Celine countered so loudly that she scared a nearby waiter and made him spill the champagne he was pouring.

"Liar," chortled Tristan, "I know you asked Mom if General Gauge could be assigned to your personal guard."

"Shut up, Gimpy," glared Celine.

Oliver laughed. "Don't worry Celine," he assured his sister, "Tristan's first crush was on—"

"Don't you dare," Tristan interjected. "Oliver, I swear—"

"What?" the eldest sibling asked, "Mrs. Wendell was a fox in her day."

"Mrs. Wendell?" laughed Celine, "The _palace librarian?_ "

A blush burned in Tristan's cheeks. "She introduced me to Chaucer and Virgil!" he argued, "We had a deep connection."

But they stopped making fun of Tristan far too soon, and Celine's attention turned to Oliver. "Who was your first crush, Ollie?" she asked.

The laughter died in Oliver's throat, and he struggled to stop his face from changing too much. Tristan met his gaze, a slightly apologetic expression in his eyes.

Because the truth was, Regan Illéa had been his first crush. With her glossy waves, teasing dark eyes, and biting wit, it had always been Regan.

"You know, Cel," Oliver began, trying to keep his voice casual, "There's been so many that I can't remember."

Celine rolled her eyes. "Charming, Ollie, really."

"What can I say?" he grinned as he rose to his feet. "I was a highly eligible bachelor." He stretched and glanced around. "Come dance with me, Cel. I'll cut in to dance with the new Mrs., and you can steal Gauge away for a minute."

Although she protested, "I do _not_ have a crush on General Gauge!", she only resisted for a minute before she followed Oliver on to the dance floor. Even though she was only fourteen, Celine was actually a better dance than he was, a point which she didn't hesitate to tease her brother about. She promptly piped down though when Oliver threatened to expose her secret to the nearby general.

After the song was over, Oliver turned to the newlyweds. "Coop," he addressed the general, "want to trade partners for a minute? Celine's making me look bad."

The Gauges both laughed. "I'd be honored, Princess," General Gauge declared, and Oliver had to swallow his laughter at the blissful expression on his younger sister's face. He took Alana's hand as the next song began.

"Beautiful wedding," he remarked.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she smiled. She really was a pretty girl, in her early thirties but with the youthful glow of any of the Selected. She had elegant, petite bone structure, sharp eyes, and a lovely smile. Gauge had done well.

"Oliver, please," he offered, "It'd be weird for any Gauge to address me so formally."

Alana smiled. "Well, then thank you, Oliver."

"Do you and Gauge have any honeymoon plans?" he asked conversationally.

She hesitated. "Not for the moment," she admitted, "He's a little busy with work."

Oliver felt a little embarrassed as he realized that he was probably part of the work that was stopping the Gauges from going on a traditional post-wedding vacation. "Uh, well, if he ever needs time off, all he has to do is ask," Oliver declared, "General Cairns is more than capable of keeping the country together while he's gone."

"I'll be sure to point that out to him," laughed Alana. "I'm not too concerned for the moment, though. There'll be plenty of time for us to do things once he gets out of the military."

Oliver's smile faltered. He'd gotten so used to working with Gauge in the last few months, a particularly competent yet innovative general, that he'd never thought of what would happen if Gauge elected to transition to civilian life. Talented as he was, Cooper Gauge was only a brigadier general and still had the opportunity to rise in the ranks. He wondered how married life would affect Gauge's career, let alone the man's position on his privy council.

"Of course," Oliver grimaced.

"We want a family," continued Alana, "and since Coop works a lot as is…"

It felt a little like Alana was trying to assert her dominance over Gauge, which Oliver was simultaneously amused and annoyed by so he simply hmm-ed in response. When the song ended, he quickly thanked her for the dance and made his way to the outskirts of the dancefloor.

He found Xander lounging near the bar and joined him. "Hey," he greeted the ginger man.

Xander, who worked closely with Gauge and had even been a member of the wedding party, looked like he'd already had a few glasses of champagne to celebrate. His smile was wider and his cheeks a little flushed. "Hey!" he grinned, "Great wedding, right?"

"Sure," frowned Oliver, not feeling as generous after his dance with Alana. "Hey, what do you think of her?"

"Who?" Xander asked glancing around. "Penny? Man, I think she's great. She has the best laugh, and her nose gets all crinkly—"

Oliver's brow furrowed. "Who the hell is Penny?" he demanded. "I was talking about Alana."

Xander's light blush turned into a full, burning red. "Oh," he replied with a forced laugh, "Of course. Forget I said anything. Uh, Alana's great."

But Oliver was momentarily sidetracked. "Who's Penny?" he asked.

Xander ignored him. "Alana's good," he replied, "I don't know how much she likes Gauge's job, but they really love each other—"

"Rewind," Oliver instructed, "I'm not tipsy enough to not notice this Penny character you brought up. Now spill or I'm going to go take the microphone from the DJ and figure it out myself."

"Please don't," countered Xander. He nodded across the room to a girl with dark hair. "She's the wedding coordinator."

Oliver's face lit up. "You _like_ her?"

Although Oliver wouldn't have guessed it was possible, the blush deepened. "I just admire her organizational skills, and I think she looks better with bangs than anyone I've ever seen."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Xander, go ask her to dance," he ordered. "For all of our sakes."

"I can't," declined the other man. "She's working, I don't want to seem creepy—"

"How is it that you can fearlessly demand more money from a bank for your weapons engineering but you're too afraid to ask a girl you like to dance?" chuckled the prince.

"I'm not _afraid_ —"

Even though he realized how immature it was, Oliver challenged, "Prove it."

And maybe it was the champagne or just that he wasn't going to let Oliver show him up, but Xander straightened his back. "I will," he declared boldly. He shoved his drink into Oliver's hand, checked the buttons of his jacket, and took a deep breath before he crossed the room.

Oliver watched as Xander approached Penny. They spoke for a few minutes, and Oliver rolled his eyes as he studied them, because it was obvious that Penny was into Xander. "What would they do without me?" he mumbled as the couple tentatively made their way to the dance floor.

Since everyone else seemed to be focused on their love lives at the moment, Oliver decided to pay some attention to his too. He snuck up behind Kaitlyn and put a hand over her eyes. "Guess who," he ordered.

"Gee, I wonder what man would be bold enough to sneak up on one of the Ladies of the Selection," Kaitlyn retorted dryly before she turned to face Oliver.

"Well, you took the fun right out of that," he mumbled.

"Sorry," she laughed. "So, how's it going?"

"Good," he nodded. "I was just wondering if you…" He glanced around the room, as he really hadn't had much of a goal when he'd approached Kaitlyn. "Have you been to the photo booth yet?"

"Nope," she countered with a shake of her head. "Want to check it out?" He nodded, and they headed in the direction of the booth.

There were different filters available, and Oliver wasn't too terribly surprised when Kaitlyn picked one that gave them cat ears and whiskers. "Look how cute!" she gushed at the screen. "Pretend to lick your paw or something."

Oliver complied somewhat, although he pretended to lick Kaitlyn's cheek instead, which caused her to giggle and try to escape from him. "Gross," she scolded him, although she looked amused.

"I was overcome by animal instincts," declared Oliver. "Hurry, we still have three more pictures."

"Two," she corrected him as they realized that her desperation to escape him post-lick had been caught on camera.

Oliver put his arms around her and squeezed her little cat face against his. Kaitlyn tolerated the closeness, although he noticed that she put some space between them before the final picture, in which they decided to stick their tongues out at the camera.

The pictures were cute, and Kaitlyn seemed pleased as they sat in the booth to examine them. "Here," she offered, holding one copy out to him, "for posterity."

Oliver chuckled and pocketed the pictures in his jacket. She glanced at the exit, but before she could move, Oliver reached for her hand. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Kaitlyn teased. Her face softened when she seemed to notice how nervous Oliver looked. It was a question that had plagued him for a while, since before he'd sent Alaric away, but he hadn't had the courage or confidence in their relationship for a while to ask it. "You know you can ask me anything," she offered.

He spat it out quickly, before he could consider the impact of it for too long: "Do you still feel the same about me as you did in Likely?"

Her face flashed from surprise to concern, and for a second, she nervously tugged at the compass necklace that hung around her neck. "I hope you always know that I love you," she smiled, giving his hand a light squeeze.

He wanted to be reassured by her response, but the longer he thought about it, he realized that she didn't directly answer his question. He'd known what she meant when she'd said that she loved him in Likely. But now he wasn't as sure. He'd wanted to know that things were the same between them, despite everything that had happened with Alaric, and she hadn't exactly confirmed that.

But he forced a smile and kissed her cheek, swallowing his fears. He hoped he was just being paranoid.

When he emerged from the photo booth, he was surprised to notice that Margaery was standing at his mother's side. Both women had a glass of wine in their hands, and they seemed relaxed enough in their conversation, which he found interesting. It was rare that people ever seemed truly relaxed around his mother.

He made his way towards them. "Hey guys," he greeted them, "Anything interesting happening over here?"

Eadlyn looked shockingly at ease. "Margaery and I were just discussing the last wedding she went to, the governor of Fennley's son's," explained Eadlyn, "We both agree that the Gauges have far better taste than the governor." Eadlyn had never been particularly fond of Fennley's governor and had been disappointed when he'd won his reelection campaign.

Margaery beamed, nodding her agreement. "Her Majesty was telling me about her own wedding as well," continued Margaery, "Of course, I've seen pictures, but it sounds like it was the event of the century."

Eadlyn laughed. "She's too sweet," she declared as she put a hand on Margaery's arm. "I'm sure Oliver's wedding will easily outshine mine."

Margaery's eyes twinkled. "I hope to be around for it," she replied smoothly.

"Alright, this feels like a trap," declared Oliver with a laugh. His mother and Margaery joined in, and he noticed Eadlyn pat Margaery's arm once more. "Want to go dance before I put my foot in my mouth some way?"

"Of course," Margaery beamed. She curtsied to the queen before taking the hand that Oliver offered to her.

"Your mother is delightful," Margaery declared as they turned around the dance floor.

"I'm glad to see you getting along with her," admitted Oliver. He hesitated before he added, "It's pretty important to me that my mom likes whoever I marry."

"Don't worry about that," Margaery offered reassuringly, "I'm sure she'll love whoever you choose. All of the girls are fantastic."

He liked that Margaery was comfortable enough to compliment the other girls as well. "I think you guys are pretty great too," he smiled in agreement.

They danced a little longer before the room fell silent for the Gauges' cake cutting. After they shoved the desserts into each other's faces, the guests were served cake, and Oliver glanced around for someone to eat his with.

He noticed Rosalie was sitting alone at one of the tables with a piece of cake and headed in her direction. "Hey," Oliver grinned as he fell into the seat beside her.

She smiled at him, but it wasn't as vibrant as usual. "Hi."

"Everything okay?" he asked, the concern clear on his face.

The blonde hesitated for a moment. "Um… sort of."

"Anything I can help with?" Oliver continued, although he was trying not to push too hard. He wanted the girls to feel like they could confide in him, but he wasn't going to force it.

A short moment passed as she pushed her cake around on the plate and considered her response. "I guess… I'm just kind of nervous about the meetings with your mom this week," she admitted. "Seeing her here tonight… I don't know. I just feel like everyone talks to her so much more easily than I do."

Oliver nodded. "I get that," he assured her, "My mom is… complex. And I know the fact that she's, like, the ultimate authority in the country probably doesn't help."

"Nope," Rosalie squeaked in agreement.

"Don't stress about it," Oliver assured her, "These meetings are mostly just a formality. You guys are all fantastic, and the decision is ultimately up to me."

She smiled. "Okay," she agreed. She stabbed at her cake. "It was really nice of you to do that reading for Gauge. I love _Les Miserables_."

Oliver grimaced. "Can I tell you something embarrassing?"

"Always," giggled Rosalie.

"I haven't actually read or seen _Les Miserables_ ," he admitted.

Rosalie gasped. "For shame!"

"I know," sighed Oliver.

She stabbed at her cake nervously for a second. "Well," Rosalie began brightly, "we could always watch it sometime this week if you were free."

It was a bold move for Rosalie, and Oliver smiled. "Definitely," he agreed, "I'll make time for it."

When he'd finished his dessert, he realized that he hadn't seen Mae all night, so he set out in search of her. Surprisingly, he found her sitting at a table with Celine. They looked like they were deep in conversation, so Oliver was a little hesitant to interrupt.

Celine noticed him cautiously approaching and beckoned him over. "Not interrupting, am I?" Oliver asked.

"No," his sister assured him. She smiled at the older girl. "Thanks, Mae. I'll catch up with you guys later." Then, she slipped away.

"What was that about?" he asked Mae in amusement.

She shrugged. "Just girl talk," she explained vaguely, "Celine's so sweet."

"When she's not being a terror," amended Oliver. He was glad to see them getting along though. He hadn't asked his sister too much about the Selected in a while.

"Can I show you something?" Mae asked abruptly, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Sure," Oliver agreed, and she led him away from the crowd towards the elevator. He was a little confused as she pushed the button for the eighth floor but didn't ask any questions.

In order to achieve the soft twinkle of the lights from above, the floor was completely dark aside from the strands hung between the rows of book shelves and across the rails. In the low light, Mae stepped closer to him, her hand reaching for his. The music softly drifted up to the floor, but most of the clamor from the wedding guests was trapped below.

Oliver inspected a nearby shelf. "Romance, huh?" he asked with a smirk. "You trying to tell me something, Lady Maelys?"

She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't intentional. It was just the highest floor we could go to."

"Oh." Oliver was a little let down but tried to conceal it. "So, what's your favorite love story?" he asked as he ran a finger down the spines of the books on his left side.

She considered the question for a moment. "Probably _Pride and Prejudice_ ," she decided.

"A classic," noted Oliver. He racked the recesses of his mind before he paused, pulled Mae into his arms, and quipped, "'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'"

"Still true," chuckled Mae, "Case in point: the Selection."

"Wow, you've equated me to an Austen character," he laughed, "No compliments for my extensive knowledge of famous literary quotes?"

Mae wrapped her arms around his neck lightly. "Everyone knows that quote."

"Challenge accepted," declared Oliver. He thought for a moment before he settled upon another quote that made his stomach do a nervous flip. "'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.'"

The green eyes widened slightly, and her breath caught in her throat. "Better," she noted with a smile as she pulled away from him and turned back to the shelves. Oliver wondered if her heart was hammering as hard in her chest as his was. "What's your favorite love story?"

"Hah," laughed Oliver, "That's classified information."

Mae frowned as she turned back to him. "Oh, really?" she asked teasingly. "What's a girl got to do to get the proper security clearance?"

"Tell me a secret," he requested.

She laughed. "I think there are very few secrets left about me that you don't know."

"Good, because I think we've learned that I don't really like secrets," he quipped. "Well, then tell me something that I've been wondering."

"Alright," Mae smiled, "What have you been wondering?"

"I heard the girls talking about what they'd want their weddings to be like earlier," he admitted, "but I noticed you didn't say anything."

She hesitated. "No, I guess I didn't."

"So, what would you want at our wedding?" prompted Oliver.

And as soon as he said it, he froze. She froze. Time froze. _Our_ wedding.

His body instantly went into panic mode. He could feel the blood thundering in his ears, and sweat flooded his hands as he wondered if she was freaking out as much as he was. Because it wasn't that he'd simply misspoken. No, it was that Oliver had unconsciously come to a very big realization.

He was pretty sure he wanted to marry Mae.

If Mae was freaking out as much as he was, he couldn't tell at all. The only change in her reaction was her smile widened a little. But she didn't dwell on the moment and instead simply answered the question. "I haven't really thought about it too much," she admitted, "When I was younger, it was just that I wanted my father to give me away. But now…"

She met his eyes. "I just want to marry my soulmate," she shrugged simply, "the person that I'd know in any lifetime, that makes life brighter, challenges me to be the best person I can be."

It was a simple request and one that Oliver realized they shared.

He wasn't sure what else he could say without completely incriminating himself and putting some very large things into motion, so he returned his attention to the books that surrounded them. "'I've always loved you,'" he recited, "'and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.'"

Mae's brow furrowed. "What's that from?"

Oliver turned to the bookshelves and after a little searching, pulled a book down. He held it out to her.

" _Anna Karenina_?" she chuckled, "That's your favorite love story?"

He shrugged simply. "I'm kind of a sucker for Tolstoy," he admitted, "You should take it. Read it if you're ever bored."

Mae chuckled. "Isn't this stealing?"

"It's a library," he countered, "We're just _borrowing_. Unofficially."

She laughed and hugged the book to her chest. "Okay," she agreed.

They took the elevator back down to the party in silence. Even if Mae was contemplating what he'd said, she couldn't have been as lost in her thoughts as Oliver was. The meetings with his mother were in three days, and he had some very serious decisions to make before then. He didn't want to subject the girls to Eadlyn's interrogations if he didn't have to, but he needed to be completely sure first.


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's Note:** Updates galore this week, get excited. Just a quick note, just because it's the last few chapters doesn't mean I still don't love reviews :)

* * *

It was equal parts amazing and infuriating to Oliver that Russia could be such a thorn in his side even without direct involvement.

The morning after the wedding, he'd decided he was going to talk to his mom about the upcoming meetings after breakfast. Except Eadlyn hadn't showed up to breakfast, and when Oliver had asked Kile about her unusual absence, his dad explained, "Emergency conference. Some trouble in the South Pacific."

Trouble, it turned out, was an understatement. In the dead of the night, a Russian naval ship had mistakenly deemed an Australian cargo ship traveling from East New Asia as an unidentified vessel and as such things were usually attributed to pirates, had fired upon it, causing extreme damage, lost profits, and even a casualty. Although Australia usually kept to themselves, their president was demanding retaliation. This was something that no country, except for the two involved perhaps, wanted, as it would require a dangerous game of picking sides or a shoddy neutrality for the other world leaders.

Oliver tried to catch Eadlyn at numerous different times, but she rarely left her office in the next two days, and when she did, she looked far too exhausted to discuss his love life. So, he reluctantly waited until Tuesday, when she finally emerged triumphant.

"Australia's been placated for now," she declared as she fell onto the couch in her bedroom. Oliver and Kile had taken to eating their meals in her room in case she left her study, but they hadn't had much success until now. "Tsar Anatoly has agreed to pay for all damages and issue a public apology."

"Nikolai can't be happy about that," Oliver mused in amusement. "I guarantee he had a hand in this."

"Oliver, dear," Eadlyn sighed wearily, "I really don't have the mental energy for your conspiracy theories right now. Nikolai could not have—"

"He is an officer in their navy," Oliver pointed out, "but fine, we can talk about it later. This is something that I wanted to discuss instead."

Eadlyn turned to the clock and suppressed a yawn. "I know, I know," she sighed, "Our meetings. Just give me time for a quick shower and the largest coffee of my life, and I'll be ready."

"No, that's not—" But Eadlyn had already disappeared into her bathroom, and Oliver sighed.

Kile quirked an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

"Uh… I think I might…" For some reason, his voice failed him, so he mimed proposing to someone.

His dad's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "Oh, wow." There was a long pause before he asked, "Who…?"

"Mae," Oliver squeaked.

He had a feeling that his dad wanted to say more, but he simply nodded. "I see."

"I just feel kind of bad making the girls do these meetings if I… you know… know," Oliver explained.

"Well," Kile asked, "are you sure you know?"

Oliver frowned. "I think so?"

Kile smiled knowingly. "I think you should _know_ so before you call it a day and send everyone home," he pointed out. He paused. "I love Mae and think she's great. But do the meetings. It won't be too awful for any of the girls, and you have nothing to lose by just giving it a little more thought. On occasion, your mother has some pretty good insight."

It made sense, so Oliver nodded. He disappeared to his own room to take a shower and change out of his pajamas, and at ten minutes to nine, he was waiting outside Rosalie's door.

Despite their conversation at the wedding, when she stepped into the hallway, Rosalie was clearly terrified. He took her hand and paused. "It's going to be fine," he assured her, slightly amused. But in an attempt to offer her some more comfort, he handed her a small, wrapped box.

He wasn't sure if it helped to calm her, but her face did light up, and she seemed momentarily distracted as she opened the box. Since he'd had some spare time in the last few days, he'd decided to give each of the Elite a gift before their meeting as a nice gesture. Rosalie's reaction made it glad that he'd decided to do so.

Her gift was a gold necklace with a circular crystal-like stone in the middle. It was dainty and delicate, like Rosalie, and had specks of blue in it that had reminded him of her eyes. It matched the flowered dress that Rosalie had worn, and she thanked him profusely more than once on their way to Eadlyn's study.

"Ready?" Oliver asked her as they paused outside.

"As I'll ever be," Rosalie admitted with a deep gulp. Oliver took her hand and opened the door.

Refreshed by her shower and on her third mug of coffee judging by the pile up on her desk, Eadlyn looked like a new person settled behind her desk. She was dressed for business in pants, a blazer, and heels that made her more intimidating than her usual 5'7" when she stood. But she offered Rosalie a kind smile that Oliver knew the smaller blonde girl appreciated.

"Welcome, Lady Rosalie," smiled Eadlyn, "please, have a seat."

Rosalie and Oliver settled into the two chairs across from Eadlyn's desk. Rosalie shifted nervously for a few seconds, which Oliver knew his mother picked up on.

"So," Eadlyn declared with a beaming smile, "Tell me a little about yourself, Lady Rosalie."

It was obviously not the kind of opening that Rosalie expected, and she paused for a minute. "Uh… well, I'm an actress," she began.

"Do you miss performing?" Eadlyn pressed.

"Uh, I guess so," shrugged Rosalie, "We've seen some plays since I've been here, which has helped."

"Would you be sad to give up acting if you became queen?" inquired Eadlyn.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably, as it was a topic he and Rosalie had never discussed. "Oh," Rosalie squeaked. "I didn't realize I would have to, I guess," she admitted. She chewed her lip before she added, "It's not something I could do in my… you know, spare time?"

Eadlyn laughed, and Rosalie flinched at the sound. "Oh, no, dear," the queen countered, "It would make you far too vulnerable to be in such a public location, and vetting an entire audience and theater would be impossible, not to mention expensive."

Rosalie's face fell, and Oliver reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He was about to interject some kind of signal to his mom to lighten up, but Eadlyn continued, "As for spare time, it's remarkably less than you'd think. Poor Kile and I have been trying to work out a time to go visit his parents in Kent for the last three years." She laughed lightly.

This seemed even worse than the acting news to Rosalie, who Oliver knew was very close with her father. "You don't even have time to visit family?" she asked, her eyebrows knit in concern.

"Of course, they can always come to the palace," Oliver noted.

"Yes, family is always welcome," agreed Eadlyn. "My brother, for example, brings my niece, Amelie, quite often."

Rosalie seemed comforted by this news. "So, it's still possible to be close with your family as the monarch?" she asked hopefully.

Eadlyn paused, and Oliver tried to send her mental vibes instructing her not to freak Rosalie out too much. "It's… possible," Eadlyn agreed, "although there are things that you sacrifice." Eadlyn's smile turned a little sad. "I was in Sahara when Oliver said his first word. Kile caught it on camera, luckily, but there are always things that you'll miss. It's inevitable." She chuckled sadly, and Oliver knew she was thinking of the rest of that story: that she'd cried for hours with the late Empress Keyani and Neema when she realized that she'd missed such a milestone.

The queen cleared her throat, shaking off the nostalgia. "There are a few questions I had for you, Lady Rosalie," she declared as she glanced down at a paper on her desk. "First, the consort is tasked with a number of public engagements throughout the year without the monarch. I know that you're one of the… more reserved girls remaining. Do you think that you'd be able to perform these duties without Oliver?"

There was a moment of thought before Rosalie nodded. "I think so. With some practice, of course."

Eadlyn made a note on her paper. "And in the event—god forbid—that something should ever happen to Oliver, how would you handle being regent?"

Rosalie's eyes widened. "Um… wouldn't Tristan inherit the crown then?"

Eadlyn's eyebrows rose. "Certainly not," she countered, "It would pass to your son or daughter. And, if they're under eighteen, the queen is the most logical regent."

The blonde beside him blanched, as though she had never considered the possibility. "I don't know how to rule," she countered.

"You'll have advisors, and it's a very slim chance anyway," Eadlyn declared, "Oliver seems to be in good health. It's just something you always have to be prepared for."

Rosalie nodded, still looking concerned. They talked a little while longer, discussing the philanthropy project that Rosalie had presented on _The Report_ a little more in depth, what she could expect from royal life, and any life goals that Rosalie had ever had, but Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that Rosalie had been unsettled by the meeting when she said goodbye to him.

"That went moderately well," Eadlyn remarked when the door had been shut behind Rosalie. "A shy girl, of course, but I heard that my grandmother was shy as well, and she made a fantastic queen." She made a few more notes in her book before she flipped to the next page. She frowned and pulled the page, entitled 'Lady Patricia' and with a few questions similar to Rosalie's page, from the book. "Do you want to move Lady Kaitlyn's meeting up or come back at two?"

Oliver offered to come back and decided to take a short break—or maybe a nap, he decided—in his room before the remaining three meetings.

But he was surprised when he found Rosalie pacing back and forth outside his door. "Hey," he greeted her, "Everything okay?"

She looked resolute when she turned to face him. "No," she admitted. She bit her lip nervously. "Can we… talk?"

"Sure," he agreed, and he led her into his room. Rosalie glanced nervously in Anderson and Jonathan's directions, and Oliver asked them both for a minute. "What's going on?" he asked as he turned to her.

Without preamble, Rosalie blurted out, "I don't think I can do this."

A flurry of emotions coursed through Oliver's mind in a fairly quick succession. First, disappointment; second, sadness; and thirdly, a sort of peace. He liked Rosalie a lot. But they didn't have the burning passion that he wanted from a marriage, and he had a feeling that she would never be truly comfortable in the palace or her required role as queen. And a royal marriage was forever. There was no option of divorce. If she realized one day that she hated the life he'd subjected her to, there was nothing to do but endure and resent each other.

But it didn't make it any easier to say goodbye, and he realized he didn't like how she'd phrased her statement. He reached out for her hand. "Can I tell you something?" She nodded. "Rosalie, I'm not exaggerating or joking or anything when I say that you can do anything."

"I can't though," she countered, "I couldn't rule a country or deal with an entire family on my own while you're ruling or—"

"You could," nodded Oliver, "I'm not trying to convince you to stay and try it, because I don't think that you'd be happy doing it. But you'd be able to. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You've amazed me at so many points during this crazy process. You never let girls like Irina get you down, and you braved your fear of my mom to plan one of the best dates I've ever been on, and even just the whole mistletoe thing… You can do anything you put your mind to, Rose."

She took a second to mull over his words before a shy smile snuck on to her face. "I'd really like to act with a bigger theater company," she admitted, "That's my dream, not… not being queen."

A bittersweet smile tugged at Oliver's face. "Then go get it," he encouraged her, "and if I can ever help in any way, please don't hesitate to let me know."

She nodded and reached out to hug him. Oliver crushed her small frame to him for the last time and when he released her, he added, "I better have a front row ticket to your first show."

"You will," she smiled, "and maybe if the Lions make it to the championship this year…"

"Oh, we'll be there," Oliver assured her, "so get ready."

Rosalie beamed up at him. "Good luck," she offered, "I really hope you find something perfect."

"Same to you, Rosalie," Oliver replied.

Once she left, he tried to resume his original plan to take a nap, but the adrenaline that realizing he was down to three girls sent surging through his body made it impossible. He'd prepared for the possibility of an engagement, and there was a little velvet ring box sitting on his dresser that made his blood pressure spike every time he looked in its direction.

He tossed and turned for hours until it was time to collect Kaitlyn. She was dressed somewhat casually in a cardigan, skirt, and tights, her compass necklace kissing the top of her sweater. She didn't look nervous about the meeting and brightly chirped, "Let's go!" as soon as he knocked on her door.

"Hang on," Oliver laughed. He offered her a box similar to the one he'd given Rosalie.

"Is it candy?" Kaitlyn asked excitedly as she shook the box.

"No," snorted Oliver, "Just open it."

She obliged, and her brow furrowed as she examined the little silver earrings. Each had a delicate map of the world embossed onto them. "I got mostly everyone else a necklace," explained Oliver, "but I noticed that you're pretty attached to your compass, so I just wanted to give you something to remind you that you can go wherever that compass points you."

For a moment, he was concerned that she hated it—until she looked up at him with glassy eyes. "Thank you," she choked out. And, for the first time since everything had fallen apart between them, she took a step towards him and kissed him.

There was something about Kaitlyn that had always felt reassuring to him. It wasn't the same kind of familiarity that he felt with Mae, but it was comfortable, almost like they were kindred spirits that had meant to meet, as though their lives would be entwined for a long time to come.

He was tempted to ask her about it, to see if she had the same inkling that they weren't each other's great loves, but he remembered his father's advice and instead just gave her a smile before he led her to Eadlyn's office.

Kaitlyn shook his mother's hand and settled herself in the chair that Rosalie had sat in only a few hours before, an easy smile on her face. "How are you today, Lady Kaitlyn?" Eadlyn inquired politely.

"Wonderful," smiled Kaitlyn. She had a beautiful sincerity that no one could ever question.

"You don't seem nervous," admitted Eadlyn, "but if you are, don't worry. I just have a few things that I wanted to discuss with you today."

Kaitlyn nodded, and Eadlyn glanced down at her sheet. "First, I wanted to discuss your work as a nurse," Eadlyn declared, "I understand that you love your job very much."

"Yes," Kaitlyn confirmed brightly, "I just have to finish my clinicals before I'm registered, and that's something that I'd really like to do even if I don't leave Angeles."

Eadlyn nodded. "You could likely complete them with Dr. Groff, if that became necessary," she allowed, "I do wonder if you'd be happy if you were unable to work in the medical field though."

"It'd be an adjustment," Kaitlyn allowed, "but if I could ever volunteer, that would help to ease the transition. And I'm sure that having kids requires some nursing skills."

Eadlyn snorted. "Especially if they're anything like Oliver," she agreed.

Kaitlyn's conversation with Eadlyn was more laid back than Rosalie's. The brunette seemed to be more aware of what she'd be sacrificing if she became a princess, which Oliver suspected might have been from conversations with Isolde. He thought that they'd almost made it out successfully when Eadlyn's face took on a serious expression that Oliver knew well, and his stomach dropped.

"There is one other thing that I need to discuss with you, Lady Kaitlyn," Eadlyn admitted. Kaitlyn nodded her agreement, and without preamble, the queen inquired firmly, "What is your relationship with Alaric Illéa?"

Kaitlyn's normally expressive face morphed into a neutral mask. "We were friends."

"Were?" Eadlyn asked, an eyebrow arched in suspicion.

"I haven't spoken to him in some time," Kaitlyn explained.

"And are you sure that friendship is the extent of the relationship you had with Alaric while he was a guest here at the palace?" pressed his mother.

Kaitlyn's face hardened. "Am I being accused of something, Your Majesty?" Her voice had lost its easy lilt, and it bordered on aggressive, which he rarely heard from people when they were speaking with his mother.

Eadlyn seemed to take Kaitlyn's change in disposition in stride though. "Of course not, Lady Kaitlyn. However, it's been brought to my attention that you and Alaric were very close."

"I wasn't aware that blindly hating all Illéas was a prerequisite for being queen," Kaitlyn responded in an icy tone.

It felt like he'd been watching a tennis match until that point, but Oliver decided that it was time to speak up to avoid any real problems. "Kaitlyn and I have discussed her friendship with Alaric," he declared, "Everything's been resolved—"

"I am concerned with Lady Kaitlyn's ability to hold Alaric Illéa to the law," Eadlyn declared, effectively cutting him off. "As queen or princess, you will be the embodiment of that law, Lady Kaitlyn, and you cannot pick and choose who must subscribe to it."

"I will hold Alaric Illéa responsible for his actions like I would anyone else," Kaitlyn announced. Her voice lacked even an ounce of its usual warmth, and her face was completely blank. "I will _not_ hold him responsible for the wrongdoings of his father and sister, though."

Eadlyn's face softened. "Kaitlyn," she sighed, "I know it must be hard to move past your… friendship. But you can't trust an Illéa." She reached into her desk and pulled out a newspaper. She held it out to Kailtyn, who hesitated. "Go on."

As Kaitlyn took the newspaper and unfolded it, Oliver leaned close so that he could read it as well. It was yesterday's copy, which he now realized had been conspicuously absent from the palace. His stomach sank when he realized why.

The headline proclaimed, "Alaric Illéa Finds Love." The accompanying picture showed Alaric in town in Likely with a woman. She was attractive with short, dark hair and a kind smile—not unlike Kaitlyn's, Oliver noted—and she was looking at Alaric like he hung the sun in the sky. Marid's son didn't look unhappy either, though he did seem a little tentative in the photo, as though it was a new relationship he hadn't fully given himself to yet.

Oliver's temper surged. His mother had planned this to see Kaitlyn's immediate reaction. He didn't like seeing the Selected hurt by anyone, even if that person was a member of his family. "That's enough," Oliver declared as he took the paper.

"It looks like it hasn't taken him long to move on from his life in Angeles," commented Eadlyn.

Kaitlyn, for her part, recovered well. "Good."

Both Eadlyn and Oliver were a little surprised by her response. "I hope he's happy," Kaitlyn continued, "I hope he falls in love and gets married and has a family, because Alaric deserves that. Do you think he ever had any kind of happiness, any sense of family with Marid and Regan?"

She didn't allow anyone to respond and stood. "If Oliver picks me, I will be a good and dutiful queen," Kaitlyn announced, "but I will also be kind and merciful and unbiased because of someone's background or last name." She curtsied roughly and spun on her heel.

"Are you happy?" Oliver glared at his mother as he jumped to his feet to follow her.

Eadlyn's voice stopped him before he reached the door. "Yes," she admitted, "I didn't want you to give your heart to someone who couldn't give theirs back."

He shouldn't have been shocked. Eadlyn had occasionally employed questionable methods in her pursuit of the truth. He didn't reply and instead stepped into the hallway after Kaitlyn.

She was sitting at the top of the stairs, her knees hugged to her chest. "I'm sorry," Oliver began as he settled beside her.

"I don't want to talk about Alaric anymore," Kaitlyn sighed, sounding exhausted. "I feel like that's what all of our conversations lead back to anymore."

"I can see that," he frowned.

"It was a complicated situation," Kaitlyn acknowledged, "but if we can't move past it… I don't think there's much hope for us, Ol."

He didn't want it to seem like he was giving her false hope, but he also wasn't prepared to let her go home thinking that he didn't trust her and didn't want to remain friends in the future. So, he reached out and took her hand. "No more Alaric talk. Ever."

She smiled for a second before concern caused it to fade. "Do you think your mother hates me?" she frowned.

"No," Oliver assured her, "I oddly think she likes to be stood up to every once in a while. Think she sees it as a sign of bravery in others."

Kaitlyn snorted. "Good," she sighed, "Glad I didn't put the nail in my own coffin."

"Definitely not," Oliver promised her. "I've got to go get Margaery, but are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," she nodded with a smile, "Think I'm just gonna go out to the archery range and shoot some things. Blow off some steam."

Oliver laughed. "Sounds dangerous."

"I'm a pretty good shot," Kaitlyn acknowledged with a chuckle.

He gave her a quick hug before they parted ways. Part of Oliver wasn't prepared to return immediately to the study, so when Margaery opened her door, he slipped past her and dramatically threw himself onto her couch.

"Wow," she noted, "Meetings going well so far, huh?"

"Not to scare you," Oliver began, "but they've been actual nightmares."

"How is that not supposed to scare me?" she laughed.

"You and my mom get along apparently," he reminded her.

Margaery smiled proudly. "She's really nice once you get past the whole queen thing."

"I don't know that anyone's actually made it past that part yet except for you," chuckled Oliver. He dropped his hand over his eyes. "She just _grilled_ Kaitlyn. It was kind of brutal."

Margaery chewed her lip. "About Alaric?"

He glanced up at her. "How'd you know?"

"What else is there to grill Kaitlyn about?" Margaery pointed out as she sat down next to him. "And… well, I definitely think there were some kind of feelings between them. At first, I thought it was just Alaric, but based on her reaction after he left…"

"It was just a complicated situation," Oliver declared, quoting what Kailtyn had said earlier. "We're past it."

"Sorry," frowned Margaery, "I didn't mean to step over any boundaries or anything."

"Oh, no, you're fine," Oliver assured her. "Sorry, like I said, it was just tense, and now I guess I'm tense."

"Well, I promise we'll keep my meeting very untense," smiled Margaery.

"I hope so," sighed Oliver. "Oh, that reminds me." Her gift was pulled from his pocket, and he held it out to her.

Margaery's face lit up. "Thank you," she beamed, "That's really sweet."

"Well, I figured since we threw a different piece of jewelry of yours into a fountain, I better replace it," he joked.

Margaery's necklace was rose gold with a small flower pendant and a diamond right in the center of the blossom. "It's beautiful," she beamed. She rose from the couch and put it on in a mirror before she turned to him. "What do you think?"

"You're gorgeous," Oliver assured her, "as always." It was more of a fact than an opinion, really. He'd never seen Margaery look less than perfect.

"Ready?" she asked, looking eager to get to their meeting. It was kind of nice to see one of the girls eager to meet with his mom, so he nodded, and they returned to the royal family's floor.

"Are you done throwing your fit?" Eadlyn asked disinterestedly when Oliver walked back into the room. He rolled his eyes. She looked up from her computer screen, and a smile spread over her face when she saw Margaery. "Lady Margaery, what a pleasure."

Margaery dropped into a graceful curtsey. "And you, Your Majesty. It's so kind of you to take time out of your schedule to meet with us."

"Yes, well, being queen is all about prioritizing," Eadlyn remarked as Oliver and Margaery took their seats. "Tell me, Lady Margaery, how would your priorities align as queen?"

There was a brief silence as Margaery considered it. "Well, I would prioritize Oliver first, of course," she began.

"Why?" Eadlyn asked, throwing the girl off a little.

"He's the king," shrugged Margaery, "The queen's job is to support the king. I can't imagine what a difficult job ruling must be, so I just intend to be there for him."

"How would you do that?" prompted the queen.

Margaery shrugged. "Taking care of our family, for one. Education has always been something important to me, so I would want my kids to receive the best one possible. But also by assisting in foreign relations in any way possible and ensuring that the palace remains in order."

Eadlyn looked pleased, but the more she spoke, the more Oliver's stomach sank. Margaery would be a killer queen, that much was sure. But the life that she was painting sounded too perfect. Like it would only be achievable on the surface, and there would always be something missing.

But Oliver remained silent while they spoke—chatting and chuckling like old friends. Finally, as the meeting drew to a close, Eadlyn asked, "Now, Margaery, just one last thing."

"Anything, Your Majesty," Margaery nodded, looking confident.

"Tell me a little bit about your life before the Selection," the queen encouraged, "What was it like, what did you like to do, just things like that."

And even though it was the most innocuous question Eadlyn had asked anyone all day, Margaery faltered. "It was… bland," she admitted, "I don't think I had much of a purpose before the Selection. I studied and helped with charities and did what people wanted me to do."

Margaery hadn't known who she was before the Selection. It wasn't something that Oliver could fault her for—he'd been a bit of an embarrassment before the thirty-five girls had changed his life. But he knew who he was now, and he'd grown over the course of the Selection.

He had a feeling that if Eadlyn asked her who she was now, Margaery would have a similar difficulty in responding since she'd spent the last few months trying to be the epitome of perfection.

Before they left, Eadlyn rose to shake Margaery's hand, and Oliver's stomach sank as he realized that his mother had a favorite who was different than the person he was leaning towards. As he made his way to Mae's room, he hoped that Eadlyn would give the last girl the same open mind that she'd given Margaery.

A warm happiness made its way through his body when he saw Mae. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was dressed in a pretty lilac dress that played up her tan skin tone. "Beautiful as always," he sighed.

"Didn't want you to show me up," teased Mae as she took his arm.

Unlike the other girls, Oliver didn't present her with anything. He had a gift for her, buried in the pocket of his jeans, and it was one that he'd spent the weekend thoroughly dictating to the jeweler about. He hoped he'd be able to gift it to her at the end of the meeting, but they needed to get through it first. Only after his mother gave her approval of Mae would the gift see the light of day.

Eadlyn was still in a good mood from their meeting with Margaery when they arrived, and it made her generous enough to gift a warm smile upon Mae. "Lady Maelys."

"Mae, please, Your Majesty," smiled Mae in return as she curtsied.

"Lady Mae," amended Eadlyn. The paper before her didn't have a lot of questions on it for Mae, but Oliver realized it was because her file was remarkably sparse compared to some of the other girls. "Tell me a little about yourself, your family."

Mae hesitated, and Oliver put a hand on her back. "Uh, my mother and father died in a car accident a few years ago," she admitted.

Eadlyn frowned. "I'm so sorry. Do you have any other family?"

Mae shook her head. "It's just been me. I got by though."

Eadlyn at least had the decency to look embarrassed when she asked, "Do you think you'd be prepared to go from such an independent life to one that affords you little privacy? Or to have a family again?"

Mae smiled. "The privacy would be a bit of an adjustment," she confessed. She paused to glance at Oliver. "But, Your Majesty, I've realized that I'd trade a lot of things for your son." The butterflies in Oliver's stomach started having a dance party. "And honestly, I'd love to have a family again. Kids, of course, but even just sisters like Celine and Isolde and a brother and…" She smiled a little sheepishly. "Well, His Majesty and yourself."

He wasn't sure whether it was Mae's honesty or the way that she'd admitted her dedication to Oliver, but Oliver could tell that Mae had done a great job at winning his mom over. Eadlyn seemed even a little lost for words, and it took her a minute to reply, "I'm very glad to hear it."

After this initial discussion, the conversation moved along a lot more easily. They discussed the places that Oliver had taken Mae so far—both of which were some of Eadlyn's favorite locations as well—in addition to a little more about Mae's upbringing. Eadlyn was impressed by Mae's education, and the longer the conversation went on, the more Oliver began to hope that his mom would grant her approval at the meeting's conclusion.

Until a knock sounded, and the study door opened to reveal Lady Neena. "Your Majesty," she bowed.

"Yes, Neena?" Eadlyn asked, looking slightly annoyed by the interruption. Oliver took as confirmation that his mom had been enjoying her discussion with Mae.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you have a phone call."

Eadlyn's irritation deepened. "Take a message, Neena."

His mother's long-time advisor hesitated. "Your Majesty, it's… well, it's Marid Illéa."

The trio exchanged concerned expressions. "Uh, excuse me," Eadlyn apologized as she rose from her seat and disappeared.

The longer they waited, the more nervous Oliver became. Mae reached out for his hand after a few minutes. "It's probably about Russia and Australia," she noted reassuringly.

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," Oliver admitted with a weak laugh. He had a feeling it was something worse than the cargo ship though. Marid wouldn't call unless he had a huge bomb to drop.

"Don't worry," Mae smiled warmly. When Oliver only grimaced in response—clearly worried—she tried another tactic. "I read your book."

" _Anna Karenina_?" Oliver asked, surprised.

She nodded. "It was beautiful. I mean, sad and awful at points, but still."

His face relaxed. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I felt awful for Anna and Vronsky though," she frowned. "I mean, yeah, they both made mistakes, but they paid a pretty steep price."

"Their lives?" surmised Oliver.

Mae shook her head. "Each other."

His face softened, and he was about to pull her into his arms when the door to the study slowly opened. Eadlyn stood in the doorway, her face drawn. "Everything okay, Mom?" Oliver asked, his fear returning more intensely than before.

"You will both tell me the truth this instance," Eadlyn declared as she made her way back to her desk, towering over them. "Is she an escort?"

Oliver felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. It had been so long since he and Mae had fought over her past that he'd really thought it was something he could bury and Eadlyn would never need to know about. "Did Marid tell you that?" he asked, his brow furrowed in anger.

"Is. It. True?" Eadlyn demanded.

Mae spoke before Oliver. "Yes, Your Majesty," she admitted, "After my parents' deaths, I had no one to turn to, and when a woman told me that I could make some money just by being myself—"

"That's enough." Eadlyn's eyes were burning with anger as she lowered herself into her chair. "This is over."

He and Mae exchanged unnerved looks. "Mom," he began.

"Oliver, I have tolerated a lot from you over the past few years," she glared at him, "but this? How could you hide something like this from me?"

"It's not as big of a deal as you think," he insisted, "It's not something that people ever need to know, and even if they do find out, look at how far she's risen—"

"People know!" Eadlyn snapped, "Our enemies know! Marid Illéa knows!" She gripped the edge of her desk hard, as though she was struggling to keep herself calm. "You had ample time to _tell_ me, but you chose to lie, and because of it, there's no damage control I can do, and I look like a fool."

While Oliver was panic-stricken and floundering, Mae squeezed his hand reassuringly and spoke up. "Your Majesty, I know that it's not ideal," she began.

Her steely glare jumped to the girl. "You can charm my son but not me," snapped Eadlyn. "What a success this must have been for you. The highest social ladder you could possibly climb."

"It wasn't like that," Mae countered.

"How can I believe a word you say?" the queen inquired. She grabbed a file off her desk. "A blank occupation space," Eadlyn scoffed, "If only you'd been unemployed as I thought."

Neither Mae nor Oliver could think of anything to say, so Eadlyn continued, "This ends right now. Send her home tonight, send her home tomorrow, but you _will_ send her home, Oliver." Without another word, Eadlyn stalked from the room, slamming the study door fiercely behind her.

As the gravity of the situation settled on her, Mae's face slowly drained of its color. She turned desperate eyes on Oliver, who had just begun to process what had happened. He squeezed her hands. "Let me talk to her," he decided before he rushed from the room after his mother.

Eadlyn had almost reached the end of the hall by the time he spotted her. "Mom!" Oliver called, jogging after her. "Mom—"

She spun on him, her expression livid. "How long have you known about this?" she demanded.

He had a lot of experience with his mom's temper, but even now, Oliver recoiled at her obvious anger. "Uh, a while," he confessed, "but it's not as serious as you think—"

"You should have _told_ me," Eadlyn snapped. She held a hand to her temple, as though a headache had blossomed. "God, if I would have known in the beginning, it never would have come this far."

Desperation tore at Oliver. "Mom, I need you to calm down," he begged, "This isn't a deal breaker—"

Her brown eyes widened, astonishment shining from them. "Are you _serious_?" He knew he was in trouble when she laughed. Angry laughter was never a good sign. "You cannot have someone like that as your queen!"

"Like what?" challenged Oliver. "Someone who lost their entire family and had to find a way to take care of themselves at sixteen? Someone who is strong and smart and funny and who loves me—"

"It is her job, Oliver," Eadlyn declared darkly. "She makes men think she cares for them. You, my sweet boy, are no different, and that is why I am so upset."

"You don't know what we have," Oliver protested.

"And you can't trust it," his mother rejoined. Her expression softened when she saw the pain her statement brought to her son's face. "A queen is supposed to be a role model, Oliver," she pointed out more gently.

"She has overcome—" Oliver tried.

It wasn't enough. "With her looks and her charm," agreed Eadlyn. "Her presence here is the result of deceit—if I would have seen such a profession on her entry form, I certainly would not have approved her presence in the Selection. And it is by deceit and my ignorance that she's remained here. Hardly what I want the thousands of little girls in Illéa to aspire to."

Oliver's face hardened. "I thought this was a decision I got to make," he challenged, " _My_ chance to find the kind of love that you and Dad have."

Her expression told Oliver that it was a battle he was not going to win. "I'm sorry," she conceded, "but you still require royal permission to marry." She reached out to touch his arm, her brows furrowing when Oliver flinched out of reach. She straightened, her face neutralizing itself into queen-mode. "You have a queen in your bunch," Eadlyn declared, "and I suspect that there is someone else that you care about deeply, for all you've tolerated with the Alaric situation. Marry one of them, and you will be happy." Then, without another word, she continued on her way.

Oliver walked back towards the study in a daze. When he opened the door, Mae jumped to her feet, nervously wringing her hands. "What did she say?"

All Oliver could do was turn sad eyes on her. Speechless, Mae fell back into her seat. Oliver paused near the fireplace, gripping the mantle with one white-knuckled hand.

"Is there something your father could do?" Mae asked, her voice coated in hopefulness.

He stared into the flames of the fire, unable to look at her. "My father has no real power to override my mother."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Oliver wanted to go to her and comfort her somehow, but he couldn't. He could barely control his own emotions.

But of course, strong Mae wasn't ready to give up. "What if we went behind her back?" she asked determinedly. "If she doesn't know, she can't stop us."

Oliver cringed. "Mae," he sighed, and this time, he had to look at her, "As crown prince, I legally can't marry without the queen's permission. The only way would be for me to…"

He couldn't say it, but it didn't matter, because Mae knew. "Abdicate," she finished, her voice hollow. This time, it was she who avoided his eyes.

Although Oliver had spent an entire childhood and adolescence resenting his role as crown prince and had often dreamed of what life would be like free from the constraints of royal life, he had never seriously considered abdicating. Being prince was an integral part of him that he wouldn't know how to move forward without. And if he did give up his place in the line of succession, the responsibilities would merely be shifted onto Tristan, who he knew would do the job if forced but truly wanted little more than to live out his life with Isolde, or Celine, who had never wanted or adequately prepared for the role.

No, he couldn't abdicate. And he knew that Mae wouldn't ask such a thing of him, a conclusion that was confirmed when she declared, "So, there's no way."

There was so much that he wanted to tell her: that she'd changed his life, that she was the most incredible person he'd ever met, that he loved her. But all he could manage was a simple but resolute, "No."

Her face had never been so devastated, the eyes never so empty, and it was an expression that pained Oliver to see on the beautiful countenance. "You deserved better than this," he muttered, hating everything from himself to the situation that Mae had been forced into.

"I didn't want better," she countered, tears altering her voice, "All I wanted was you."

The familiar magnetic feeling erupted, and Oliver approached her, falling to his knees before her and taking her hands in his. "Is there anything that I can do? Anyone we could appeal to, or…" Mae frowned, not ready to surrender. "If she doubts whether I love you…" The tears in her eyes spilled over and raced each other down her cheeks. "I would make a constellation up for you, remember?"

That was the most painful part. Oliver had always thought that the difficulty would be finding someone that he loved and who loved him in return. It turned out that he had been wrong. "I know," he assured her. He tried to swallow the lump of emotion stuck in his throat, but it was useless. "I just…"

"I could make you happy." It wasn't meant to convince him and existed more as a fact. Oliver knew she was right. She could make him more than happy. She could make every dream he hadn't realized he'd had come true.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against their entwined hands. Each time he thought they'd come to the most agonizing part of the situation, he found himself proved wrong. Blinking away the water in his own eyes, he turned a resolute face to Mae. "Do you know what one of my earliest memories is?"

When she shook her head, Oliver steeled himself with a long breath. "It was the day of Tristan's Christening. All our family was in town, and everyone was so excited about it. I don't think Tristan was out of someone's arms at all that weekend." Mae smiled, and even Oliver gave a brief a chuckle as the memory sprang into his mind. "When we got to St. Sebastian's, I hid. I was so tired of the way that everyone was constantly fawning over him. No one could find me, except for my mom." His smile took on a dour air. "She was the one who always found me when I was a kid, who just knew what I was feeling before I did and always had the right answer." He tried to recall the warm, protected feeling that the memory usually stirred up, but all he came up with was a deep emptiness.

He forced himself to meet Mae's gaze, reminding himself that she deserved that at least. "I couldn't marry someone my mother didn't approve of," he admitted, "and maybe that's my own weakness, but I knew that when I started this process. She's the one person in the world who's always understood my position and been there for me."

Finally, the ever strong, determined, beautiful face crumpled in heartbreak. The sobs that racked her small frame came hard, fast, and unrelentingly. Seeing her in so much pain stabbed at Oliver's heart, and he couldn't stop himself from pulling her into his arms. She clung to him like she was drowning, and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat.

When she found her voice, she stammered, "So, this is ju-just it? I l-leave, and in two days, you're engaged to s-someone else."

Guilt coursed through Oliver as he realized what he had to ask of her. "Mae… I can't pick someone else in two days."

A new emotion—confusion—blossomed on her face. "What does that mean?"

He'd always knew that his selfishness was one of his flaws. He'd known since he was a child, and it had never bothered him enough to prompt him to do anything about it. But as he spoke, he swore—to himself, to God, to whatever higher power was so intent on torturing him—that he would never be so selfish again. "I can't send you home yet."

Pain, anger, and finally, resignation flashed across her face in a quick succession. "I see." She gently pulled her hands away from him. "I can do that for you," she decided, "I-I'll stay until you're ready. But… please don't make me watch."

"Of course," he promised. The words were practically suffocating him, and he took a deep breath. "Mae, I just need you to know…"

"Please don't," she requested softly. She pulled her hands away from his. "It won't make it any easier for either of us." Her eyes looked greener rimmed with the red from her tears when she raised her gaze to his face. "I hope one of them makes you happy," she declared, her smile surprisingly genuine. Before he could say anything else, she stood and disappeared from the room.

He remained kneeling on the floor until his knees hurt, staring at her empty seat and sorely feeling her absence. Then, with the little strength that the day hadn't drained from him, he pulled himself into the seat, dropped his head into his hands, and mourned his loss.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before a figure appeared in the doorway. Although he had never been particularly close with his father, Oliver had never been happier to see him. It was obvious from the sheepish and apologetic expressions that his face shifted between that Eadlyn had already laid into him about his part in the concealment of Mae's secret. "Ol," he sighed. He crossed the room and pulled his son into his feet. "You okay?" Kile asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I—" He'd intended to assure his father that he was fine, that he didn't need his comfort, but the attempt died in his throat. Instead, a fresh onslaught of tears sprang up in his eyes, and he shook his head.

Kile pulled his eldest son into a strong embrace, offering the support that Oliver desperately needed at that moment. "It's going to be okay," Kile assured him, and Oliver let himself believe him, even if he knew the possibility of such a thing was small. But more importantly, he released the control he'd always tried to have around his father and sobbed into his shoulder.

One of Kile's best attributes was his unerring patience. He never tired of emotions or was unsure of how to respond, like Oliver. He stood and offered words of comfort and reassuring pats on the back until Oliver's eyes rebelled and decided they would cry no more.

"I hate this," Oliver decided as he fell back onto the couch in exhaustion.

"We're royalty, Oliver," Kile pointed out sadly, "We do what we must, no matter how badly it hurts."

"So, this is the price?" Oliver asked hollowly. "A lifetime without her?" His stomach fell as he realized they were paying the same price as Anna and Vronsky.

There was a long silence, and although his father put a reassuring arm around Oliver's shoulders, he noted, "Some rulers have paid far more." Kile stood, paused, and leaned down to plant a kiss on his son's head before he disappeared.

The study felt suffocating without the presence of someone else. He realized that one day it would be his, and for the rest of his life, he would remember it as the place that he'd lost Mae. He pulled himself to his feet and abandoned it in favor of his bedroom.

"How was the meeting…" Anderson trailed off, Oliver's dismal expression enough answer to his question. His butler frowned. "Can I get you anything? A drink perhaps?"

Oliver shook his head dully. "That'll be all for the night."

Once the door had clicked shut behind Anderson, Oliver pulled the small, velvet box out of his pocket. He took a deep, steadying breath before he opened it.

The ring that he'd described down to the smallest detail gleamed up at him. It was a large, flawless center stone, set in platinum. It had been perfect.

But now, it was a cold reminder of everything he couldn't have. He pulled the ring from the box, and with all of the anger that he couldn't express at anyone else, hurled it across the room. He heard it clatter to the floor, perhaps skitter under a piece of furniture, but he ignored it and simply fell into his bed.

As he laid there with his heart breaking, Oliver made a silent promise to himself. No child of his, whether heir, spare, or otherwise, would ever know the desolation that he was feeling. They would never spend their lives without their other halves and would never be forced to sacrifice their own personal happiness for the crown.


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Note** : Serious thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Sorry to those who felt victimized. I offer you NYE in response :D

* * *

Given the past couple of days, Oliver was not excited about the New Year's Eve party. Usually, he loved the holiday. It was an excuse to dress up, drink too much alcohol, and kiss whoever struck his fancy at midnight. But this year, Oliver was dreading it.

"I don't want to go," he mumbled into his pillow.

Elijah looked affronted. "Stop being so selfish and enjoy New Year's Eve with me, for fuck's sake," he ordered, "This time next year you'll be married, and I'll…"

"You'll what?" Oliver asked, his curiosity sparked.

His friend fixed him with a dangerous look. "Don't laugh."

Oliver held a hand up. "Scout's honor."

Elijah turned back to the jackets he'd been considering for the evening's festivities. "Everly asked me to come to France once the Selection's over."

Given Elijah's reluctance to tell him, Oliver decided to keep his reaction calm. "What did you tell her?"

"That it's a terrible idea," snorted Elijah. "Her family's going to meet me and realize that they've got to find her a suitable duke or something."

"Oh, shut up," Oliver countered as he jumped out of bed. He crossed to the couch, where a tray of drinks and snacks had been provided to facilitate the men's preparations for the evening, and grabbed some mozzarella sticks. "You're a wealthy, well-educated privy council member. You're fine."

"She's a princess," Elijah pointed out. He abandoned the blazers and dropped to the couch beside Oliver to pour himself a drink.

"Nanette and Helene loved you when they were here for the Harvest Festival," Oliver retorted. "And Annalise and Aunt Camille are no problem. You've already known my uncle for years." But Elijah seemed only slightly comforted so Oliver added, "But you're right. She is a princess. That means certain… requirements."

"I really like her," Elijah admitted as he stared into the depths of his drink, "but I don't know if I want to be a princess's boyfriend or husband or whatever. Here in Illéa she feels normal. But there, she's gonna have to do all of the awful, boring things you do."

Oliver reached for another fried snack. Reyna was gonna kill him when he finally made it back to the gym once the holidays were over. "To be fair," he began while he chewed thoughtfully, "she is the youngest princess. I imagine her duties are remarkably less, more like Celine's than anyone."

"I guess," Elijah frowned, but he didn't seem convinced.

"Just go," shrugged Oliver, "at the very least you get to escape from Alcatraz for a while."

Elijah rolled his eyes. "Only you would equate a palace to a prison," he scoffed. "Your privilege is showing."

"See, look how nice this is," sighed Oliver, "We haven't gotten to sit around and bitch at each other in a while. We could skip the party and just do this all night."

"Hmm," considered Elijah, "Sit here and listen to you complain in your sweatpants all night or kiss my girlfriend at midnight." He pretended to weigh the options in his hands. "Sorry, Ol. Pass me that silver jacquard jacket."

Oliver rolled his eyes and plucked the coat from the top of the pile that the two had dug out of Oliver's closet. In his heyday, Oliver had a tendency to wear extravagant, somewhat outrageous suits—to his mother's great irritation—but now they were reserved for events like New Year's.

"I like it," Elijah declared as he examined himself in the mirror. "Why did you ever stop wearing things like this?"

There was a knock at the door, and Anderson showed Xander in a moment later. Even he had spiced his outfit up a little, dressed in a velvet navy blue jacket and black pants. "Why aren't you ready?" he frowned as he examined Oliver's casual outfit.

"Why are you ready so early?" challenged Elijah.

Xander looked perplexed. "It's nine o'clock," he pointed out. "The party starts at—"

"Oh sweet, innocent, Xander," sighed Elijah, "What would you do without us?"

"I don't get it," Xander admitted.

"You can't go to the party _at_ nine," Oliver explained from his relaxed position on the couch. "Three hours of drinking, and you'll be sleeping in a coat room by midnight. Ask Elijah."

"It's true," his friend nodded, "Although, in my defense, you know that's one of the best New Year's we've ever had, Oliver."

"So, what do we do until we go?" Xander asked as he took a seat.

"Prepare our stomachs," Elijah declared, brandishing a pretzel stick, "and listen to Oliver mope, apparently."

"Mope? What's wrong?" Xander asked as he reached for some nachos.

Oliver hesitated. He hadn't told Xander about the Mae situation, as he figured it might be a bit of a conflict of interest since his sister was still one of Oliver's options. But Xander was far too perceptive not to realize that something had been wrong with the prince in the days that had passed since the disastrous meetings. "Uh… my mom was pretty hard on a couple of the girls in their meetings," he answered vaguely, "Not Margaery—they're best friends, apparently."

Xander laughed. "Not surprising," he admitted, "Marg has always been good at talking to authority figures. She had our nanny wrapped around her finger when we were kids."

"Eadlyn basically said 'pick Margaery,'" Elijah interjected.

Xander raised his eyebrows in surprise as he turned to Oliver. "She can do that?"

"Turns out," mumbled Oliver. He'd been putting off the alcohol to pace himself, but the present conversation made him lean forward for a martini.

Although he expected the ginger haired man to look excited at the prospect of his sister being queen, Xander frowned. "Well… I mean, don't feel obligated to choose her because of me or what your mom says or anything," Xander finally replied. "I only want you to marry Marg if you really love her. I want you both to be happy, obviously."

Obviously. It seemed so simple. Oliver was jealous that, in a person like Xander's world, happiness was the obvious course of action. He forced a smile. "Thanks, man."

Elijah's eyes lit up. "Your sequined jacket! The one you wore in Monte Carlo!"

Despite his ever-present gloom, Oliver managed a smile. "Perfect," he decided. "How can I say no to New Year's when I have a sequined blazer?"

They languished in Oliver's room a little longer while the prince prepared himself physically and mentally. Physically, the process was easy. He smoothed his unruly hair down, slipped into the glimmering navy jacket that had been dubbed 'the one', and tied a corresponding bow tie. Mentally, it was a different case.

For both of their sakes, he'd avoided Mae in the last couple of days. Additionally, he'd taken all his meals in his room or with Margaery or Kaitlyn privately so that he didn't have to see his mother. But now, all three of them were going to be thrown together.

The New Year's Eve party was held in a ballroom that was less commonly used but still beautiful. The walls and ceiling were all made of glass, providing an expansive view of the night sky and grounds. If he knew his mother, it was because some extravagant firework display would be held at midnight, which he might've looked forward to any other year but was now just annoyed about as he realized Pip would probably freak out in his room and destroy another pair of shoes.

Since it wasn't an official state event, he didn't have to be announced, which he was pleased about. He slipped into the room with Xander and Elijah and quickly collected a glass of champagne before he decided to take stock of the situation.

His mother was present, of course, mingling across the room with his father. To anyone else, they might have looked like they were having a pleasant, casual conversation, but Oliver knew that they were still at odds over Kile's part in the concealment of Mae's past, and he saw the icy indifference that his mother was approaching his father with. Oliver was never surprised by his own stubbornness, because he knew that he got it from both of his parents. When each believed they were right—as he suspected was the case presently—their disagreements could span weeks.

When Eadlyn noticed Oliver observing the pair, she raised a hand to beckon him over, but Oliver promptly turned away. "Look, there's Everly," he announced. To further illustrate his feelings to his mother, he led the group across the room to his cousin instead.

He regretted it a little bit when Everly greeted Elijah with a kiss, but he figured watching his cousin make out with his best friend wasn't nearly as bad as talk to his mother who was literally ruining his life. "What are you wearing?" Everly laughed when she noticed Oliver and Elijah's outfits. "You look nice, Xander."

"Thank you!" beamed Xander as he straightened his velvet jacket.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I'll have you know this is the height of New Year's Eve menswear," he declared. "What are _you_ wearing?"

Everly spun in a small circle. Her dress was white with an embroidered bodice, whimsical sleeves, and perfectly offset her dark hair and a fresh tan that Oliver wasn't sure how she'd gotten. "Only a custom gown that two designers literally fought to make for me," she beamed, "Perks of being a princess."

"You're beautiful," Elijah told her, and Oliver almost choked on his drink to hear his friend speak so genuinely to a girl. In the good old days, Elijah was the king of avoiding complimenting any girl he was engaged with, which he claimed he did so as not to get her hopes up.

"Okay, this is still a little weird," Oliver decided, "I'm gonna go talk to Kaitlyn."

He'd spotted her across the room talking to the new Mrs. Gauge and noticed that she was impatiently tapping her fingers against her leg as he'd learned she did when she was uninterested in something. To accomplish both of their goals, he inserted himself into the conversation. "Mrs. Gauge," he smiled, "Nice to see you, as always."

Alana curtsied. "And you, Oliver. Lady Kaitlyn and I were just talking about some great opportunities to get involved with, should her stay in Angeles become permanent."

Oliver swallowed. "Fascinating. Would you mind if I borrowed Lady Kaitlyn for a moment?"

She looked disappointed, but Alana nodded her agreement. Oliver led Kaitlyn towards an empty balcony, and Kaitlyn heaved a sigh as she settled onto the edge of the stone ledge that served as a barrier. "Thank the lord," she declared, "She invited me to a Tupperware party! And her book club! And some kind of garden society, which sounds ridiculous because the palace has an army of gardeners, and I couldn't keep a plant alive if I tried."

Oliver laughed. "There'll always be girls like Alana," he admitted, "They want to be the princess's friend but not _yours_."

"Gauge seems so nice, I don't get it," Kaitlyn huffed.

Oliver shrugged. "I think they've known each other since high school. Gauge was on the football team, Alana was prom queen."

"So, in other words, old habits," Kaitlyn surmised. "Well, best of luck to him, because she's…"

"Yeah," Oliver laughed in agreement.

There was a small pause before Kaitlyn blurted out in a rush, "Are you okay?"

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?" he chuckled, although he didn't directly answer her inquiry.

She chewed her lip. "I sort of…"

"Talked to Mae," Oliver guessed. She nodded. He didn't want to lie to Kaitlyn—there had been enough of that on both of their parts, he suspected, during the Alaric situation—so he shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

"That's fair," Kaitlyn offered with a small smile. "I feel like uncertainty has been the theme of the last few months."

"You're telling me," snorted Oliver. He leaned against the ledge on his elbows, glancing up at the velvety night sky. "I'm just sort of tired."

Kaitlyn nodded her agreement. "Me too. This has definitely deviated from what I imagined it would be like."

A flurry of anxiety erupted in Oliver's chest. "Knowing… what you know… would you want to leave?" he asked nervously. "I mean, I was ready to ask her."

"I know," Kaitlyn nodded, "Honestly, it was sort of a surprise. I knew you guys had something special, but I didn't know it was that serious."

It was a fair assessment. Essentially, Kaitlyn knew that either she or Margaery would be his second choice, since he couldn't go with his first. It had to be a poor way to spend the rest of one's life, especially when the person who really had his heart was such a close friend of hers.

But he had a sneaking suspicion that Kaitlyn thought she couldn't have her first choice either. "I think there are a lot of types of love out there," Kaitlyn mused. "And I think a lot of their times, they're confusing. But I don't doubt that I love you, and I think you love me too—even if it's differently from…"

Oliver nodded. "Yeah. I think that's fair."

Kaitlyn shrugged her small shoulders and turned to him for the first time since they'd broached the topic of Mae. "I'm here for the long haul," she declared, "I care about you, and if I can help you be happy, then that's good enough for me."

Good enough. It seemed like all either of them would get.

He smiled and, without another word, reached out to pull her into his arms. She hugged him back, and he realized that he could do a lot worse. With Kaitlyn, he would at least have someone who understood him, maybe even the dark parts that he wasn't sure he understood himself.

When he released her, Kaitlyn nervously tugged at her compass necklace. "You know what we need?" she declared.

"Completely new lives?" Oliver guessed.

She chuckled in amusement. "For starters, optimism," she countered, "but I was going to say cake. Or alcohol. Or both."

"I like the way your mind works, Davis," he decided. He took her hand, and they returned to the ballroom. Kaitlyn headed to the dessert table while he deviated towards the bar. They met at a table on the outskirts of the room with their acquisitions.

"Never used cake to chase a drink," Kaitlyn giggled as he held the shot glass out to her.

"I don't imagine your experience with alcohol is too extensive," he laughed.

"No," she agreed, "As recent as your birthday, in fact." Her smile slipped for a second, as though she was remembering something that was a little painful.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Oliver allowed. "What should we cheers to?"

Kaitlyn gave a shrug. "Making it work?"

The suggestion caused a tentative smile. "I think we can do that," he agreed. He clinked his tiny glass against hers. "To making it work."

They both tossed the clear liquid back, and Oliver laughed as Kaitlyn immediately began shoveling cake into her mouth. "It burns!" she griped.

"Elijah has a theory that I eroded my taste buds years ago," Oliver snorted as he picked up his own cake.

"You must have," Kaitlyn agreed with a shiver. "There's not enough cake in the world for that."

He collected some regular punch to help ease the sting of the tequila, and they sat together while they ate their cake and chatted about things that didn't make his heart clench uncomfortably—like how big Pawnds and Pip were getting, that Kaitlyn was thinking about dying her hair (he recommended against it), and how he was planning on doing a triathalon in the spring. They truly did get along well, and Oliver tried to remind himself that there were worse ways for things to turn out.

They parted when she decided to go say hi to Isolde and Tristan, and Oliver scanned the room, forcing himself to look for the reddish-brown hair instead of the dark brown that he'd spent most of the night thinking about. He frowned when he couldn't find Margaery and decided to check outside. She wasn't on the balcony, but he lingered until a pair of hands covered his eyes. He was momentarily nervous until a familiar voice instructed, "Guess who."

"Hmm… must be a Seymour," Oliver decided, "Xander, what did I tell you about our meeting like this?"

Margaery laughed as she removed her hands. "Am I going to have to have a chat with my brother?"

"Only if you don't like to share," Oliver teased, causing her to giggle again.

"What are you doing hiding out here?" she asked as she glanced around.

He shrugged. "Guess it was just a lot in there," he mumbled.

All week long it had been clear that Margaery was aware that something had changed for him as well, although she seemed to be more determined to ignore it than Kaitlyn. Now, she chewed her lip before she declared, "You know I want this, right?"

"Huh?" Oliver asked, taken aback.

She glanced up at the edifice of the palace. "I want this," she repeated. Her eyes jumped to him. "I want _you_. And I can do this job."

He sighed. "Marg, I promise there's never been a doubt in my mind about that," he assured her.

"Is there a doubt in your mind about something else?" she inquired, her nervousness bleeding into her voice.

"I have a lot of doubts about a lot things," Oliver confessed with a sigh. He saw the worry crease her brow, and he reached for her hand. "Nothing that you should worry about," he told her, "It's just… royal stuff."

"You can trust me with that stuff," Margaery offered.

He smiled a sad, conflicted smile. "I know," he nodded, "One of the shitty things about being royalty though is that's a lot easier said than done sometimes though. Some things I have to do on my own."

"Sounds lonely," Margaery remarked.

"I hope it's not," frowned Oliver, though he secretly agreed with her.

Margaery reached for his other hand. "You look like someone who needs a distraction right now," she decided. "Let's dance."

He wasn't really in the mood for a dance, but it was hard to say no when she fixed him with such a hopeful smile. "Alright," he agreed and let her lead him back inside.

The song was a little more upbeat, which he found helpful. It certainly was distracting at least. "Did you see that Xander invited Penny?" Margaery asked excitedly as she nodded across the room to where her brother was standing with the event planner.

"Would you look at that," Oliver chuckled. He hadn't been aware that his friend had invited the girl from Gauge's wedding, but he was glad to see it. Politics could be lonely, so it was comforting to see that Xander had found company.

"Can I ask you something?" Oliver inquired as his attention wandered back to Margaery.

"Of course," she beamed.

"What's one of your goals for the year?" he asked, "Something not related to the palace or me or being a princess or anything."

Margaery's forehead puckered. "I don't really like making resolutions," she admitted.

"Humor me," Oliver requested.

"Uh… okay." She nodded. "Maybe volunteer more? I haven't gotten to the last couple of months because of the Selection."

A perfect answer from a perfect girl. He gave her his generic answer when she directed the question back to him—an eight pack, it was always an eight pack whenever anyone asked. With Margaery, he still felt like on occasion he was looking for a true inkling of who she was under all of the expectations and manners and proper behavior that had been sewn into her during her upbringing.

When the song was over, he excused himself, feeling a little overwhelmed and decided to take a seat with his brother for a while. Although Isolde was improving greatly, she still wasn't ready to dance the night away, so she and Tristan were seated at a table, their hands entwined as they watched the room and looked deep in conversation.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Oliver asked nervously as he approached them.

"Not at all," Isolde assured him with a bright smile. She was dressed in a long sleeve evening gown to hide the discoloration that still peppered her body from the crash, but her smile was bright. "How are you doing?" Tristan had asked if he could tell his wife about what their mother had decreed in regards to Mae, which Oliver had agreed to. He figured if Tristan didn't tell her, Mae would.

"Fine," he mumbled. "Tonight's just not what I wanted it to be."

Tristan frowned. "But you're wearing your sequined blazer," he pointed out, "You used to swear it was impossible to have a bad time in that thing."

"First time for everything, I guess," Oliver sighed. "Please talk to me about something that has nothing to do with mom or my life or the Selection, please."

Since Tristan had never been very good with on the spot requests, Isolde began telling him about the cottage that they were renovating in Carolina so they had somewhere to stay whenever they wanted to visit her family. She was discussing the changes she planned to make to add a sunroom when they were approached by a surprising figure: their grandmother, America.

"Oliver."

He grinned up at her. "Hey, Gram."

Although age had lined her face and her auburn hair was heavily streaked with gray, America Schreave had retained her queenly stature. She'd always be the lenient grandparent in comparison to Maxon, who had a tendency to be a little stricter on Oliver than Celine or Tristan, but when she sat down at their table, her face looked critical. "Oliver, I was under the impression that I had a gentleman for a grandson," she remarked.

Tristan's eyes widened before he choked on his drink in amusement, and even Isolde ducked behind her hand to repress her laughter. "Wh-what do you mean, Gram?" Oliver asked. He tried to figure out if he had done something truly insulting that evening but was coming up blank.

"You've ignored Lady Maelys all night," America continued, her brows furrowed in concern, "The poor girl probably feels _awful._ "

He was sure his grandmother was right but doubted it was because he was ignoring her. "It's complicated, Gram," Oliver deflected.

America rolled her eyes. "Don't act like you're the only person here who's ever been part of a Selection," she retorted. "I know all about these 'complications.'" Oliver had to try not to smile at her air quotes.

"No matter what's been going on with you two lately, love makes everything simple," continued America with a smile. "Don't give up on it because of a disagreement or something stupid."

He was beginning to think that his grandmother was going senile in her old age, because love certainly hadn't simplified anything in his experience, but he sighed. "Will you drop it if I dance with her?"

America smiled, obviously pleased at herself for rectifying the situation. "You'll thank me one day."

Oliver highly doubted it, but he repressed his eyeroll until his grandmother had left the table. "Just shoot me," he groaned to his brother.

"Sorry," countered Tristan, "I'm not really fond of the idea of spending the rest of my life in prison for regicide."

"I'm not king yet," pointed out Oliver, "So, at best, you'd probably just get a nice little sentence of murder and perhaps treason."

"As comforting as that is," allowed Tristan, "I'm still gonna go with no. You better hurry though. Grams is still eyeing you."

With another dramatic moan, Oliver finally allowed him to look for the one person he'd fought with himself to avoid all night. He found her standing with Kaitlyn near the balcony and decided it was as good a time as any.

Since Mae's back was to him, Kaitlyn noticed him first, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Uh…" She glanced around and quickly dumped her champagne into a nearby vase. "Look at that, I'm out of champagne. Be back in a minute."

Before Mae had the chance to recover from her confusion at her friend's odd behavior, she turned to see Oliver standing behind her. Because she was Mae, and it was probably impossible for her to look less than stunning anyway, as usual, she took his breath away. Her dress was somewhat understated, purple with long sleeves and a little sparkly, and her hair was collected into a low bun.

"Uh… hi." He shifted his weight uncomfortably between his feet. He really disliked his grandmother at the moment.

Her smile might've fooled a stranger, but Oliver could see the pain in it. "Hi."

He took a deep breath. "Look, I've been trying not to make this harder for either of us," he began.

The sadness faded a bit from her smile, and she reached for his hand. She gave it the briefest squeeze before she released it, like she'd been burned. "I know, Ol," she assured him, "You don't have to apologize for anything."

He cringed. "I kind of do," he countered, "My gram..." he nodded in the direction of America, who gave them both an encouraging smile, "she noticed that I haven't talked to you tonight, and she sort of insisted I ask you to dance or something." He frowned. "You can't really tell an ex-queen no."

Mae looked surprised by the proposal. "Oh."

"If it's too much to ask, I can just pretend to suddenly get sick or something," Oliver offered, unsure himself if being in such close quarters with Mae was advisable.

"Uh… no," she decided after a minute, "What's a dance?" She smiled at him as he offered a hand to her, but it took her much longer than usual to accept it.

They walked towards the dance floor in silence. Oliver was at least relieved that everyone around them seemed too engrossed in themselves to notice the melancholy that neither seemed able to fully fight off. He pulled her close enough to dance without looking awkward but maintained enough of a distance that neither of them could fool themselves into thinking that they were still a possibility.

There were a million things he wanted to say. He wanted to make sure that she was doing okay, to tell her how much this was hurting him and see if she was struggling too, to explain that he didn't _want_ to make the decision that he knew would be demanded of him in the upcoming weeks. He wanted to tell her that she had always been enough for him, more than he'd deserved even. He wanted to tell her that he would feel her absence every minute of every day for the rest of his life.

But he couldn't speak. He could barely dance without missing a step, though if she noticed, she chose not to comment on it. She was either unwilling or unable to say anything either, and Oliver wondered if she was being choked by the same thoughts that he was.

Three minutes had never passed so quickly. Before Oliver had a chance to prepare himself, the song ended. Maybe it was his surprise at how quickly time had slipped away from them or just the fact that he wasn't prepared for what came next, but he didn't let Mae go. They stood linked together, rooted to the spot.

"Oliver…"

"I'm not ready to let go," he admitted as he stared into her eyes. He was going to miss them. He'd never seen a purer green anywhere, without a single hint of brown or gold. They were the most precious emeralds in the world, and he was losing them.

Mae swallowed, her lips trembling. "Me neither," she confessed.

They stepped closer at the same time, bodies neatly pressed together. She rested her head on his shoulder as he held her to him with both hands. They moved in unison as the next song started, but it was off-beat, uninterested.

He closed his eyes as he took the moment to try to memorize what it felt like to have her with him. It was more than feeling the movement of her ribcage under his hands as she breathed or the warmth of her body as it melded to his.

She made him feel better, stronger, more prepared to deal with the craziness that his life was doomed to be because of his last name. With her, he felt like he could actually become the kind of ruler and person that he could be proud of. He didn't feel lost with her at his side.

The music ended abruptly as Coen climbed the stage. "Everyone, grab a glass of champagne and a cutie, because it's almost midnight!" he cheered into the microphone.

Mae took a hasty step away from him, like she'd been sitting too close to a fire and just realized how dangerous it was. "Happy New Year, Oliver," she choked out as she stared at the ground. She curtsied, and before he had a chance to stop her, fled towards the other side of the ballroom to where Kaitlyn and Margaery were.

Oliver heaved a sigh as the ballroom burst into action around him, everyone trying to prepare for the New Year's countdown. He glanced around. Tristan and Isolde were standing with Elijah, Everly, Xander, and Penny. His mother and father were grouped together with Celine and his grandparents, and the three remaining members of his Selection stood arm in arm.

There was only one place he wanted to be, but since it was an impossibility, he simply retreated to a quiet edge of the room. A large screen behind Coen showed a ten. "Everyone ready?"

 _Ten._

A large figure appeared beside him. Jonathan had two drinks in hand and held one out to Oliver. A sip told him it was an Old Fashioned, one of Oliver's favorites, and he gave his friend an appreciative smile.

 _Nine_.

"Three girlfriends, and here I am with no one to kiss at midnight," Oliver snorted. "The irony."

 _Eight_.

"Not how I thought this New Year's would go either," Jonathan admitted, his own face turned down in a frown.

 _Seven_.

He frowned as he realized that he wasn't the only one spending New Year's without the person they loved. He reached out to put a hand on Jonathan's back.

 _Six_.

"If only the people who thought we had it all could see us now," Oliver laughed bitterly as he thought of how many times magazines had called him privileged.

 _Five_.

"If you could take it all back, everything that happened this year," reflected Jonathan, "Would you?"

 _Four._

It was an interesting question. A lot had happened that year. A lot of pain, but also a lot of growth. He was a completely different person than the hungover ladies' man who'd been outraged when he'd been told he was having a Selection.

 _Three._

"No," Oliver finally determined.

 _Two._

"Me neither," the large man agreed.

 _One._

The room burst into a chorus of, "Happy New Year!" as an impressive fireworks display erupted over the glass ceiling of the ballroom. The band broke into a rendition of "Auld Lang Syne" as couples across the room kissed each other. Oliver smiled as he saw Tristan wrap his one good arm tenderly around his wife and Kaitlyn throw two arms around Mae's neck to plant a kiss on her friend's cheek as the latter laughed and struggled to escape.

He finished his drink in an attempt to quell the hot ball of emotion that seemed stuck in his throat, but as the mirth spread throughout the room, he felt it becoming harder to breathe. Everyone was so happy, and while he didn't resent it, he wanted the same thing more than he'd ever wanted anything before.

He could march across the room and kiss Mae, he realized. There'd be little that his mother could do to stop him in that moment, as Eadlyn hated to cause scenes. But she would stop him at some point, and then he and Mae would be no better off than they were now. Prince or not, he was powerless.

"Excuse me," he muttered to Jonathan as his eyes settled on the door across the room. He couldn't be an observer to the happiness anymore. He needed out.

As soon as he escaped into the hallway, the air seemed to move more easily. He leaned against the wall and drank it in as he came to the realization that this would be the rest of his life. He had to marry someone, and he would spend a lifetime dancing with her, making appearances with her, kissing her, and knowing that she wasn't Mae.

"Oliver?"

He was torn from his inner misery by Tia Marcela. "Are you alright, mi corazon?" she asked, the concern etched on her face.

He swallowed. No one else in the family aside from his father and Tristan knew what Eadlyn had done, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be getting her 'mom of the year' award if he shared. "Yeah," he lied with a forced smile, "Just… hot." He frowned as he noticed his aunt had changed out of the gown she'd been wearing earlier at the party and was carrying a bag. "Where are you going?"

"Brazilia," Tia Marcela answered with a smile. "I always go for the New Year. It's not so much as a party in Brazilia but a time to reset and prepare yourself for a new beginning."

It sounded perfect. "Is Uncle Osten going?" he asked.

Tia Marcela nodded. "He's always embraced Brazilian culture," she explained, "I took him the first year that we started seeing each other."

"What do you do?" Oliver continued, intrigued.

She shrugged. "Hike, pray, feast," she listed. "There are a lot of different events. Your uncle's always been interested in the more nature related aspects, while I usually lend myself to the service events."

He mulled it over. It sounded relaxing and reinvigorating at the same time. His aunt seemed to notice his interested and added, "If you wanted to come, mi corazon, we would love to have you. I've told my father of your interest in a relationship with Brazilia, and he's very amenable to it as well."

It might not have been the most responsible decision, and he was sure that Eadlyn was going to kill him when she found out, but he nodded without a second thought. "Let me grab a bag," he decided, "Uh, and my dog probably."

His aunt laughed but agreed, and Oliver raced off to the royal family's floor, praying that he didn't run into his mom or any of her whistleblowers on the way. Luck was on his side for once though, and he made it to his room without incident.

He momentarily cursed himself as he remembered that he'd given Anderson the holiday off, and he desperately started searching for a bag and realized that he had no idea where anything in his room was located. As soon as he returned from Brazilia, he decided it would be rearranged so he didn't have to destroy it to find a simple duffle bag.

The door opened while he was on his mad-dash. "What are you doing?" Jonathan frowned while he inspected the frantic prince.

"Pack a bag, Jonathan!" Oliver declared gleefully. "We're blowing this pop stand!"

"I don't know what that means."

"It doesn't matter! Grab some shit, we're getting out of here! If I can find a fucking—"

Jonathan rolled his eyes and walked into Oliver's closet, returning with a bag a moment later. Oliver snatched it and began haphazardly stuffing it with clothes, shoes, and anything he thought he'd need. He'd never packed for himself before and realized that it was a little nerve-racking as he had the unshakeable feeling that he'd forgotten something. Jonathan returned a few minutes later, a packed bag hanging over his shoulder. "Are we informing anyone of our departure?" he asked, his voice uneasy.

"They'll figure it out," Oliver shrugged as he hoisted Pip into his arms.

Another roll of the bodyguard's eyes. "Do you realize what a panic it would cause if your mother realized she just couldn't find you?" he demanded. "She'd probably think you were kidnapped, and then Illéa would literally go into a state of emergency."

Oliver sighed and grabbed a piece of paper off his desk. _Gone to Brazilia with Uncle Osten and Tia Marcela, be back later, no need to call (please don't call),_ he scribbled. "Happy?" he asked as Jonathan scanned it.

"Placated," his guard shrugged. He took Pip from Oliver, who had been trying to coax the puppy into a backpack. "Are you ready?"

Oliver grabbed a few books off his nightstand, thinking maybe he'd be more cultured in the New Year. "Yep," he agreed, "Let's get the hell out of dodge."

The pair (and the dog) made their way to the palace garage, where his aunt and uncle were waiting. "Heard we gained a passenger," Osten grinned as he greeted Oliver with a hug.

"If you don't mind," grinned the prince.

"Of course not," he shrugged, "You tell Eady?"

"Uh, I left her a note," Oliver offered.

Osten laughed but shrugged. "Works for me. Get ready for the best weekend of your life."

As their car sped away from the palace, Oliver felt more relaxed than he had since the day of horrendous meetings. He knew that his escape was going to be short-lived and that he would have to deal with the Selection when he returned, but for the moment, he was going to forget about Angeles, the evil queen that paraded herself as his mother, and the feeling of drowning under the weight of the rest of his life.


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's Note** : One more chapter and an epilogue. Thank you for the love and support.

* * *

Brazilia was better than anything Oliver could have expected.

He'd never been to the country south of Illéa before as it and the countries that used to make up South America, Andolia and Patagonia, usually kept to themselves. It was a large country, not as large as Illéa but perhaps more impressive in Oliver's opinion when he considered that it was ruled by a collection of chiefs instead of a singular monarch. It also wasn't as developed as Illéa, but everywhere he turned there was a new jungle or mountain or beach, and Oliver was amazed.

It was also interesting to see Tia Marcela in such a different environment. While she usually was in Osten's shadow in Illéa, the people in Brazilia clearly loved her. When their plane arrived, there were people waiting to catch a glimpse of her, and she was gracious, taking the time to speak with people, smile for photos, and even return hugs.

Tia Marcela's father, Chief Santiago, was the chief of the northern portion of Brazilia. Their palace, if it could even be classified as such, was smaller than the one that Oliver's family lived at in Illéa but infinitely more beautiful, in Oliver's opinion, as it was an attractive, open air structure on the edge of a beach. The few staff that they kept treated the royals more casually, while still respectfully, and the entire atmosphere more relaxed, which the prince found immensely enjoyable.

The chief was older than Eadlyn, probably closer to Oliver's grandfather Maxon's age, and he was a warm, welcoming man. Although Marcela wasn't his heir—she was the eldest girl, but the second of five—he was clearly overjoyed by her return. Tia Marcela hadn't exaggerated the schedule for New Year's int he country. The days were packed full of volunteering opportunities, parties, anything that got people out and enjoying their lives.

It was the most amazing weekend of Oliver's life.

His bedroom was located on the side of the palace that faced the ocean, and he woke up every morning greeted by the smell of the sea and the sun streaming through constantly open, floor to ceiling windows.

Tia Marcela's younger brother, Gael, also made it his mission to make Oliver's trip one to remember. He gave him the best tequila in the village—the kind that you sipped in a glass, not slammed down in a shot—and found him pretty Brazilian girls to dance with to their native Latin music. He took Oliver to climb mountains and on a trip through the jungle in which he saw an actual panther. They snorkeled every morning, which somewhat painfully reminded him of his date in Paloma with Mae each time, and spent the evenings languishing at lavish and delicious Brazilian dinners.

He also made time to meet with Chief Santiago and Tia Marcela's older brother, Antonio, who would inherit the position of chief when his father passed. He got along with Antonio, perhaps less than Gael, but Santiago welcomed him like another member of the family. He was unreserved in his discussions with Oliver about how Brazilian politics worked, and he welcomed any commentary from Oliver about how Brazilia and Illéa could work together in the future.

As the weekend passed, Oliver realized that he felt more at home in the little seashore community than he had in his own palace in some time. It was a realization that made his stomach clench as the end of their weekend and his inevitable return drew closer.

After a day of surfing, beach barbecues, and volleyball, there was only a farewell feast thrown in his and Tia Marcela's honor before their plane ride home in the morning. Tanned, exhausted, and happier than he'd been since before Tristan and Isolde's plane crash, Oliver lounged in the sand watching the sunset as he shared a cigar with Chief Santiago. "This is incredible," he determined. "I can't believe that you just live like this."

"Well, of course, it's not always clear skies and warm sand," allowed Santiago with a chuckle. "But that's life, right? The good and the bad. It's all a circle."

Oliver frowned as he considered how his life had gone lately. "What do you do if it looks like the bad's going to win out?"

Santiago considered the question before he declared, "You fight it." He leaned towards Oliver and poked him in the chest. "Happiness is a choice, even for princes. My father used to say that it is easier to be unhappy and complacent than it is to be daring, to fight for what you want, and to really live."

"Life isn't something that you just show up to," Santiago smiled. "You have to take in your hands and make it your own."

The old chief glanced around the sandy shore towards the setting sun that hung over the water. "It appears I've let time get away from me," he declared with a chuckle. "We have a farewell feast to attend."

"I'll catch up," Oliver promised as he remembered one of the books that he'd shoved into the bottom of his bag before he left Angeles. The chief nodded and started towards the beachfront palace.

Oliver had never been the most creative of the Schreave children. Celine could play just about any instrument that was put in front of her, and Tristan had always had a way with words, evidenced by the poetry he'd always tried to hide from his older brother. Oliver simply didn't have the patience for it.

But he'd liked Santiago's advice. So, he dug for the journal that Mae had given him for Christmas to jot them down. The chief's sagacity seemed applicable to a lot of different situations.

When he finally unearthed the journal and a pen, he flipped to the first page quickly, fighting against the setting sunset. But he was surprised when he wasn't greeted with a blank page, as he'd expected.

In fact, none of the pages in the leather book were blank. They were all filled with the same elegant, slanted handwriting. At intermittent spaces throughout the pages were little dates, the earliest from August. As he examined it, Oliver realized that Mae hadn't given him a place to record his thoughts. Instead, she'd handed over her own contemplations from throughout the Selection, her heart and soul splashed across the pages.

As he perused the journal, he found that some of the entries made him laugh. The first— _August 16_ _th_ _: We met Oliver at a wine and sushi event tonight. There seem to be differing views on him so far. Patricia said he's funny, Adelaide said he was sweet, Isolde said he climbed into a fountain. Will investigate further for myself_ —made him cringe a little as he recalled the unimpressive first meeting he'd had with the Selected. But they quickly improved.

He thought back to the way that he'd felt after their first kiss the night that they'd tried to imitate the big move from _Dirty Dancing_. It had been instant fireworks for him, and after that, he'd known that he needed to pursue the feelings he had for Mae. There was no way that he could've guessed at that time that they'd end up here, but even from as early on as that second week of the process, he'd known that she was something special.

It was interesting to read her side of the recollection. She recounted how everything had happened, but when she described the kiss, Oliver's heart thumped wildly in his chest.

 _Any other kiss that I've had before this one seems ridiculous now, like they weren't even real kisses at all. I've tried to keep myself a little reserved, just in case—I mean, he's already kissed Margaery and who knows who else—but I know this was the beginning of something. It was butterflies, it was passionate, but more importantly, he looked at me the way every girl wants to be looked at tonight_.

He hadn't even realized he'd given her any particular look at the time. He skipped forward a few pages, cringing when he reached their first fight when he'd found out about her past. He considered passing over it, but he remembered how Chief Santiago had said they had to accept the good and the bad, so he scanned the page.

 _It's the first time I've ever regretted my past. At the time, it all seemed so innocent. I would make enough money to hopefully start a new life and then no one would ever know and it wouldn't matter. But the way that he looked at me today was awful. I was disappointed in myself for the way that he found out, but I was also disappointed in him. I thought he was different, not someone who would judge me for my past._

Regret at the way that he'd handled the situation flooded Oliver. He knew that they'd moved past it, but it was certainly something that he'd take with him into the future. The thought that the same situation was what was keeping them apart now tore at his chest.

The last date in the journal was from her birthday, written after they'd returned to Angeles. It certainly had a happier tone than the entry about their ill-fated Yukon trip, but reading it now when Mae seemed like such an impossibility made Oliver's chest constrict.

 _He makes me feel not alone. I think I pushed people away for a while. The more you care, the more you have to lose. And I've lost so much that I wasn't sure I could handle more. But things are different with him. He makes me feel things that I didn't think were possible anymore, a happiness that I thought I'd lost forever. And I think that I push him to be the best version of himself too. Even from just these earlier entries, he's become something so much more. He's kind and loving and funny and I'm more in love with him than I ever knew was possible. This must've been how my parents felt about each other. It's something that I'd always idolized, but now I've found it. I found it with Oliver._

"Oliver?"

He blinked the sadness out of his eyes as he turned to see Tia Marcela walking towards him. She looked perfectly in her element in a beachy maxi dress with a flower tucked behind her ear. But her face frowned as she took a seat in the sand next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, mi corazon?" she inquired as she reached out to cup his cheek.

His voice still felt thick with emotion when he spoke. "I can't run from this," he realized.

"No," she agreed, "I suppose not. But would you want to?"

"Yes," he mumbled instantly.

She laughed. "I don't believe that. Resolution is more freeing than you'd think."

He glanced over at her and noticed that she seemed deep in thought as well. "Can I ask you something?" he wondered.

"Anything," she smiled.

"If you could go back and change things with Uncle Osten, would you?"

The smile faltered for a second, but when it returned, it was brighter than before. "No," she answered. "We might not have the most traditional relationship, and I admit, sometimes it's been a disappointment. My family, in particular, struggled with the fact that I wasn't going to be married. As carefree as Brazilia can seem, religion is very important, so it was hard for them to come to terms with at first. But I've gotten to spend my life with Osten, and that's all I've ever really wanted."

He frowned. "I'm in love with Mae," he confessed.

"I'm not surprised," his aunt noted.

"Mom has concerns," he added.

"She often does," Tia Marcela chuckled. She put a hand on Oliver's arm. "She loves you, Oliver. I know that parents aren't supposed to have favorites, but you're her firstborn, the one who changed her life. If you love this girl as you say you do, you'll find a way." She kissed the top of his head before she stood. "Now, come. I won't let you spend your last night moping. Besides, Gael says he found something with your name on it."

Oliver shook his thoughts off. "Guess we'd better hurry before he drinks it all then," he grinned. His aunt put an arm around him, and they made their way up the beach towards the feast. It was a loud, festive event like most in Brazilia were, but Oliver managed to forget the dark cloud that was hanging over him long enough to enjoy his last night with the Brazilians.

Their plane left far too early the following morning, and before he knew it, they were back in Angeles. As soon as he stepped in the palace, it felt like the peacefulness he'd found in Brazilia faded away. It was like _The Wizard of Oz_ in reverse: Brazilia was technicolor, but his reality was a harsh black and white.

The palace was quiet, which was a good sign. Part of him had worried that there would be guards waiting in the foyer that would march him to a secret tower to be locked away until Eadlyn died. No one gave him so much as a second look on his way to his room though. It made him miss the way the palace workers in Brazilia had always greeted him with a bright smile and a wave.

He was distracted as he made his way through the palace, and although he still had his bag slung over his shoulder and Pip scuttling along beside him, he was surprised to find himself outside of Margaery's room instead of his own. He frowned at the door. It was a conclusion that he'd come to in Brazilia and had planned to act upon once he returned, but he hadn't meant for it to be such immediate action.

"No time with the present," he mumbled to himself and he raised his hand to knock on the door.

A maid answered and dropped into a curtsey, further reminding Oliver that he was no longer in Brazilia. He wasn't sure that anyone in Chief Santiago's household outside of his aunt could execute a standard Illéan curtsey. The maid showed him into Margaery's room.

He'd been in the room several times before, and he knew it well. The picture that he'd given Margaery of their initial visit to the conservation center sat on her desk, the Santa's helper hat from their date at the Christmas carnival was perched on her dresser, and his Christmas gift of a stuffed snow leopard had a spot on her couch. There were other touches of Margaery—pictures of her and her siblings, small gifts that she'd been given from the children's charities that she worked with in Fennley—but as he examined it, he realized how the room was identical to almost all the other guest rooms in the palace.

Their plane had arrived early, and Margaery looked a little harried as she emerged from her bathroom. "Hi," she beamed, "This is a surprise." She reached out to hug him, and Oliver mechanically returned the gesture.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "I just got back."

"Don't be sorry," she countered with a smile as she settled onto the couch. She patted the spot beside him and offered, "Are you hungry? Want coffee or anything?"

He shook his head and sat beside her in silence as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "How was Brazilia?" she asked casually.

It reminded him of the way his parents always had coffee together in Eadlyn's room before breakfast. "It was amazing," he answered.

"I'd love to go sometime," Margaery noted with a small smile.

He tried to fight off his frown, but it was impossible. Margaery's own eyebrows knit together in concern. "Uh oh."

"Margaery…" He sighed. "I sort of came here because I needed to talk to you."

She seemed to lose interest in her coffee, and she lowered it to the table before her. "I see."

There was a heavy silence. Oliver knew that he owed her an explanation, but truthfully, the explanation didn't make sense to him. How did he explain to someone that he'd grown exceptionally close to that she'd lost by default? If not for Mae, he surely could have loved Margaery or Kaitlyn easily. They were incredible girls. But what he had with Mae transcended any logic that he tried to apply to the situation. Anyone else had been an impossibility the moment Mae had even been Selected.

"Is… is it because of the Kaleb thing?" Margaery asked hesitantly after a moment.

He considered the question before he replied. "Not really," he admitted, "It's not that I didn't know about him or that I resent that you had a relationship before me. It's more what you had to deal with because of him though."

She seemed confused, so he continued on in explanation, "You had to be a certain way with him. Prescribe to certain types of behavior, be this perfect thing that he could put on a pedestal, and when you didn't, you paid a price, whether it was fair or not."

"That's the rest of your life if I pick you," Oliver reminded her.

"I'm okay with that though," Margaery frowned. "I told you that."

"But I'm not," protested the prince. "I don't want you to spend the rest of your life filling a role. I don't even want that for you when you leave here. I want you to find what makes you happy, the thing that sets your soul on fire and makes everything in the world seem brighter. God, Margaery, I want you to live your life for _you_ so badly."

There was a tense pause before Margaery's face relaxed. "That sounds a lot like love to me," she pointed out.

"Don't think I don't know it," snorted Oliver, "I spent the whole weekend trying to sort through all of the crazy stuff going on in my head. I could be hiking a mountain, and I would still mentally be comparing pros and cons to everything."

Margaery frowned slightly. "It's one of the other girls, isn't it?"

He heaved a sigh. "Yeah."

"Mae?"

"Yeah," he repeated.

The expression on her face was confused. "You don't seem happy about that," she noted.

He sighed. "Her meeting with my mom definitely did not go as well as yours did," he explained briefly.

"Is it because of her, uh, past profession?" Margaery guessed.

Oliver nodded, and Margaery pursed her lips. "I get where your mother's coming from," she allowed, "but… I'm a little surprised by you."

"Me?" Oliver cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

Margaery reached out to squeeze his arm. "You are the most stubborn, determined person I've ever met," she laughed. "Just in the last few months you took on Marid Illéa one-on-one."

"Look how that turned out," muttered Oliver darkly, "He sabotaged my brother's flight."

"You've also built an entire branch of Illéa's military single-handedly," she noted.

He flushed, a little uncomfortable by the praise. "I had help," he retorted. "Xander, and Gauge, and—"

"My point is," Margaery declared, "When you want something, you make it happen, Oliver."

"Shockingly, military development is much easier than taking on the queen," he sighed bitterly.

Margaery reached forward, placing a hand on each side of his face. "If you love her the way you seem to, fight for her," she urged. "It's not going to be easy, but it'll be worth it."

She had a very good point. Oliver examined her face for a moment before he gave her a tentative smile. "You're going to make someone very happy one day, Margaery Seymour. Someone that I hope is better than me or Kaleb Ayers or anything you've encountered so far." He took one of the small hands from his face and squeezed it. "Please don't ever settle for less than you deserve. Even if it's a prince or something that you think will make your family happy."

"I'm working on it," admitted Margaery, "but I'll definitely try not to."

"Good," Oliver grinned, "I'll be keeping an eye on you through Xander." She laughed, and he pulled her into a final hug.

He gathered up his bag and Pip and departed from Margaery's room for the last time. This time, he did find himself back in his own bedroom. The mess that he had left in his wake during his packing frenzy was absent when he returned. As usual, Anderson was awaiting him. "Your Highness."

"Hey, Anderson," Oliver replied as he set Pip down. The dog sniffed around for a few moments before he turned a quizzical expression on the prince, as though he demanded to know why they had left the beach and warmth. _Beats me, man,_ Oliver thought dejectedly.

"Her Majesty requests your presence at your earliest convenience," Anderson added before he bowed and began unpacking Oliver's things.

"Of course she does," sighed Oliver. He considered making her wait, but ultimately, he changed from his casual travel clothes into a more suitable pair of dark jeans and a button up that he rolled up to his sleeves. He paused when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His skin was still tan from the sun that had blessed the southern hemisphere, and his hair was extra curly from the salty water. He looked the same as he had there, but in Angeles, he felt less sure of everything.

Eadlyn's head maid informed him that his mother was in her private library. Oliver paused in the doorway. While she was dressed as normal in a pencil skirt and blouse like usual, her appearance surprised him a little. A glass of wine was clutched in her left hand, and a large book lay open in her lap.

He didn't say anything as he inspected her, trying to gauge the climate of her attitude that afternoon, but she noticed his arrival anyway. "You were a wonderful child," Eadlyn remarked as she smiled down at the book in her lap.

Oliver had never thought his mother to be the most emotional parent—Kile was usually the one taking photos or documenting life milestones—so it surprised him to see her looking at a photo album. "I was so afraid when I had your hair cut the first time," Eadlyn noted, pausing to smile up at him, "I thought you were going to lose your sweet curls." Oliver awkwardly tried to pat his hair down, wishing that her fear had come true.

Eadlyn took a sip of her wine. "How was Brazilia?"

"Er, good," he confessed. "You're not… mad about that?"

The ghost of a smile tugged at her face. "You don't know the number of times I wished I could escape this all," she countered with a dry laugh, "I think I was mostly just impressed that you had the gumption to do so."

He decided to test the waters to see how much he could get away with. "I really liked Chief Santiago," he continued.

"I've heard he's a good and fair ruler," Eadlyn commented.

Oliver nodded his agreement. "I think Illéa could benefit from a relationship with our southern neighbors."

She mulled it over as she sipped at her wine. "It's been brought up on many occasions," she admitted, "I was under the impression that Brazilia, let alone Andolia and Patagonia, weren't particularly interested, despite Marcela's association with our family."

"Chief Santiago sounded amenable," countered Oliver, "Provided it wasn't an alliance of one-sided benefit."

"What would you say to advisors or critics that think Brazilia and the tribe countries are beneath us?" Eadlyn asked, turning her scrutinizing brown eyes on her heir.

"I don't care what they think," Oliver replied without missing a beat. "I _know_ it'll be good for us."

He thought he saw the beginnings of a smile again, but it didn't linger long. "Your confidence has always been something that's attracted people to you," Eadlyn noted, "I was wondering how long it would take before you started applying it to politics."

"You think it's a good idea?" he asked, somewhat surprised, "The whole Brazilia thing?"

She returned her attention to the book. "I think that the idea has merit," she noted, "although you must remember that foreign relations are tricky and that is why it is necessary to have a good team on your side. Oh, do you remember this? The first time we took you sailing."

Oliver wasn't sure if she was trying to distract him from the direction that she must've known the conversation was bound to move towards, so he just briefly glanced at the picture. In it, he wore a captain's hat while his mother held him up to steer the sailboat. He didn't remember it much, but the younger version of himself that beamed out from the picture looked like he was having the time of his life.

"When you're in a position like this," Eadlyn began, "you try to make it easy for your children, normal, if you can. I always knew there was a day when Illéa would claim you, and you'd belong more to them than me or your father or even yourself."

Her voice wavered as she continued. "It's hard," she admitted, "There are so many things that a parent wants for their children, chiefly their happiness." She paused. "I've spoken to mothers who struggle to feed their children, or don't have the access to all of the education they want for them, or who can't abide their life decisions."

There was a moment of silence as she examined his face. "I have loved you with every ounce of my being since the moment I was blessed with you," she smiled. "And I thank God that I've been able to care for you in ways that some mothers can't. But I always feared there would be a time when I would have to be your queen before your mother."

He slowly approached her. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or some other self-reflection that Eadlyn had done during his absence, but he was hopeful for the first time since she'd stormed out of her study. "You don't have to be," he offered softly, "Mom…"

She turned away from him, like she also knew that her resolve was cracking. "I've spent the last few days in many meetings with my advisors," she frowned, "I've gathered information, run possible disaster scenarios, tried to figure out any angle that we could spin on it."

His heart fluttered. "It's really not that bad, Mom," he tried, "Things are… different nowadays. It doesn't mean prostitution or anything too scandalous."

She sighed and reached to refill her wine glass. "Darling, you've had so many experiences yet are still so naive," she chuckled sadly. Their eyes met. "Our lives, Oliver, are all about perception."

"If they weren't," she added, "do you think I'd ever have even made you hold this Selection?" She scoffed to herself. "I was lucky that mine gave me your father, but it certainly wasn't an altogether pleasant experience, and…" She chewed her lip. "I've seen everything that your father has sacrificed for me. I don't know that it's something I could ask twice of him if I could go back."

"It's different for us," countered Oliver, "Mae and I."

She closed the photo album. "Oliver, even if we did grant royal permission, you would not thank me," she insisted. "My sweet, sweet boy, by existence we have enemies. You know how tense things are with Russia, and with Marid there, it just makes everything even more complex. They wouldn't hesitate to paint her in the worst light, and then more conservative countries could turn on us."

"Do you trust me?" frowned Oliver.

Eadlyn laughed. "Far more than a few months ago," she conceded, "but you still have much to learn about ruling, darling."

"You can teach me," he pointed out, "I can learn. And with her by my side, I know I'll be better than I could be on my own."

"You wouldn't be on your own though," Eadlyn pointed out as she sipped her drink. "You would have Lady Kaitlyn or Lady Margaery. And I do think that you would be happy one day, my love."

He took a deep breath, stealing himself for the ultimatum that he had come to on the beach in Brazilia. "No, I won't," he declared.

His mother looked surprised. "Oh?"

"I don't want to make anyone unhappy," he explained, "I don't want to settle for a second choice and condemn one of them to this life that you yourself have admitted is a sacrifice. Just because they entered the Selection doesn't mean that they've sacrificed their rights to happiness."

"No one is entitled to happiness, Oliver," Eadlyn sighed dismissively.

It was a pessimistic view, but he didn't have the time to refute it. "Maybe now," he frowned, "but I'm not going to be the one that takes it from them. I love these girls. If it's in my power to make them happy, I will. But there's only one that I can make happy by marrying her."

She shut her eyes, giving a small shake of her head. "It is _impossible_ —"

"It isn't." He took a deep breath before he declared, "We can deal with what the public thinks. I guarantee when they get to know her, they'll love her as much as I do. It's impossible not to."

"And Nikolai and Marid?" pressed Eadlyn. "My council?"

"Foreign affairs will be one of my chief concerns moving forward as the crown prince and eventually as king," answered Oliver, "One day, I might have to deal with Nikolai and Marid, but I highly doubt it would be over something like this. Marid wants to destroy our rule, not my love life."

It was the moment of truth. He was taking a gamble that could ultimately not pay off, but he was banking on his mother's love for him to see it through. There was another deep inhale before Oliver announced, "And your council will be convinced, because it's not Mae, I won't marry anyone." He tried to swallow down the fear before he continued, "And that means I'll never have children. They'll watch the line of succession fall apart since no adopted child of Tristan and Isolde could be heir either."

Eadlyn froze before his eyes. "By endangering the line of succession, you endanger Illéa."

"Mom, I love Illéa," Oliver confessed. "I would do a lot for it. I will fight for it and protect it, and I have so many good ideas for it." He raised his chin in defiance, his resolution clear on his face. "But I will not throw away my only chance at happiness. I can't."

She was looking at him with an expression that Oliver wasn't entirely sure how to decode. "I could make you to marry one of the others, you know," she pointed out.

"You wouldn't," Oliver retorted, and Eadlyn didn't even try to fight him. "I know that you try to be the best queen you can be," he allowed, "but I also know that you wouldn't force me to do something like that."

He reached for her hand. It was the first time he'd reached out to her since the fight over the meetings. "You've always been a superhero to me, Mom," he admitted with a smile that was both embarrassed but also nostalgic, "If there is anything that you can do for me for the rest of my life, please make it this."

The brown eyes met the hazel ones, and Oliver held his breath as his mother inspected his face, as though she was searching for something. Finally, she reached out to put a hand to his cheek, and he gave as a slow exhale, awaiting her determination.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's Note:** Emotions galore. This is going to be a long a/n, so feel free to skip. I just really wanted to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, or followed this story. _Holding_ is the first story I've ever ever finished, one of the few I've ever posted, and I can't express how much your support and just the way that people embraced this story and these characters (so many of which are incredibly dear to me) have meant to me. I planned to make this a summer project, and it grew into so much more. Since I posted the first chapter, I graduated college, began a whole new life adventure, moved, went through crazy family things, started law school. I honestly think if it weren't for the outlet that this story became, I definitely wouldn't be as okay as I am today. _Holding_ has given me confidence about my writing, a lot of experience about things I can still improve on, but most importantly, a lot of great relationships. I have met some great people through this story, one who has genuinely become one of my dearest friends (looking at you, TTSW). I wanted to give a very special thank you to the people who always kept me motivated to see this through, whether they knew it or not: wolfofstark, morethanjustastory, Fryllabrille201, Canadaorbust, and rysaspirit. They've all consistently been here from almost the beginning of the story, and I really appreciate you guys so much.

So, here we go. Last chapter. Epilogue to come, and as my official announcement, keep an eye out for the sequel, _If We Ever See the Sun_ , which will be coming on Valentine's Day. Thank you. I'm eternally grateful for you.

* * *

The door was the same, standard off-white as the thirty-four others on the second floor. He stood in front of it in the same casual jeans and t-shirt that he usually wore around the palace, hair messy as always, hazel eyes bright. For the moment, everything was the same.

But as soon as the door opened, Oliver knew things were never going to be the same. This was it. As enormous and scary and life-altering as it was, he'd made his decision. There was no nervousness, no second guessing. He was ready.

She opened the door herself, beautiful face breaking into a smile that made his heart constrict in his chest. "You're back!"

"Kaitlyn." One of the first things that he'd ever noticed about Kaitlyn was how infectious her smile was. To be around her was to be happy. Even now, his own face mirrored her happy expression.

"Oliver," she beamed. She hedged the door open. "Wanna come in?"

He nodded and followed her inside, his stomach sinking slightly when he saw the tower of suitcases set out near her closet. When the news of Margaery's elimination had broken, the palace had been spurred into action. The final two meant a decision would be announced soon, and they prepared both girls just in case so that whoever was not picked could be quickly and quietly whisked away from the palace. It was a painful reminder to Oliver that before everything was all over, he had to hurt one of the two people that he cared about most in the world.

Kaitlyn noticed the anxious expression that the suitcases caused his face to crease into. Of course she did. She always noticed. "Want to go outside?" she asked with a gesture towards the balcony.

Oliver nodded and followed her. While the weather was much colder than it had been in Brazilia, it was a pleasant day, bright with sunshine but crisp with the briskness of January. It felt easier to breathe in the open air. She settled herself on a chair, legs pulled up beneath her. Oliver leaned against the stone ledge of the balcony.

There was a beat of silence. Kaitlyn was the one to break it when she asked, "How was Brazilia?" She sounded genuinely interested, not at all like she was trying to make small talk.

"Amazing," Oliver sighed, thinking back to the green jungles and lush beaches. "And the people were just incredible. It's a relationship I'm looking forward to developing."

The mention of relationship gave them both pause. He could see the breath physically catch in Kaitlyn's throat, and with his own deep swallow, he decided it was now or never. "Kaitlyn," he began. Her name felt different, as though he hadn't spent the last five months laughing and sighing it.

She didn't respond. Her knuckles were white as they gripped her own knee.

"You are one of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life," Oliver smiled as he took a step closer to her. "Even with the problems that we've had, every time I see you, I just feel good. You're incredible and smart and funny and honestly, just a better person than I deserve." Kaitlyn snorted, which he felt was some kind of agreement.

With a deep breath, he pressed on. "I love you," he declared simply, "And I always will."

The hopefulness in her eyes blossomed, and her smile took on a vibrancy that he'd seen so rarely since Alaric's departure. Oliver swallowed and settled himself into the seat beside her. He reached for her hand, which he realized was shaking. "But I'm not in love with you, and for all our talk about making it work, you deserve that," he continued, "I don't want you to settle for anything, including me."

The way that her face crumpled reminded him of how devastated she'd looked when Alaric had left. The beaming excitement fell away almost instantly, tears flooding her eyes before she could even take a shuddering breath. Her hand pulled away from him, and Oliver's palm felt remarkably cold in its absence. "Oh, my god," Kaitlyn muttered, closing her eyes and leaning toward to rest her head in her hands.

For a moment, Oliver thought that she was going to be sick, and he nervously reached out to touch her shoulder. She flinched away, and when her face rose to meet his, the usually happy blue eyes were hard. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked, the accusation clear. She felt led on, betrayed.

Oliver tried not to cringe. He'd resolved himself to be as open with her as possible, willing to offer her any explanations that she desired. "I told you as soon as I could," he insisted, "I haven't even talked to Mae—"

The mention of the other remaining party in the Selection triggered the tears, and Kaitlyn pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes as though she could physically dam up the emotion. Oliver had never pretended to be a master of sentiment, but he imagined that she felt conflicted: upset for herself but also happy for her friend. Such contradictory feelings sounded difficult to process.

He understood why she was so surprised. As far as she knew, Oliver hadn't talked to Eadlyn. Based on their conversation at the New Year's Eve party, it was fair for Kaitlyn to assume that he was going to propose to her after she'd heard that Margaery had been sent home. To the extent of her knowledge, Mae wasn't an option anymore, so she was supposed to be it. She'd probably started planning for a life.

She stood, wiping the few escapees from the tops of her cheeks. "I have to go."

That was it. And strangely, it wasn't enough for Oliver. "What?" he asked, somewhat perplexed.

Kaitlyn simply nodded resolutely and disappeared back into the bedroom. Oliver followed after her. "But what about the engagement—"

"Please don't say party," Kaitlyn begged as she fumbled around on her dresser, shoving the few remaining items into a smaller bag. Oliver caught sight of them as they disappeared: her pizza necklace, a photo with Alaric and Mae from his speakeasy birthday, Pawnds' cat brush. When the surface was empty, she paused, and Oliver saw her back shudder like she was trying to hold back tears.

And then, it was gone. She turned towards him, a thin smile on her face. She pulled a letter from the bag. "Give this to Mae for me?"

Oliver tentatively took the cream envelope. "Kaitlyn… I just feel like we should talk about this, maybe," suggested Oliver. It felt incomplete.

"No." It wasn't said meanly, but there was a definite firmness in her tone that surprised him. She turned from him, collecting Pawnds and scooping him into a cat carrier as she spoke. "I just need time," she decided, "I'm happy for you and _so_ happy for Mae, but…"

Another tear snuck down her cheek. She hastily pushed it away. "But I sort of thought things were going to end differently for me," she pointed out, "and I'm going to need time. I was vulnerable, and I gave up _a lot_ to be here, and now…" She absentmindedly touched the compass that hung at her neck. "I got hurt."

Oliver had a feeling that only some of that hurt was attributed to him, and he wondered if she was thinking of Alaric. If Oliver had sent her home after the plane crash, maybe things would have been different for the two of them. As he stared into the face that was struggling to be brave so valiantly, he momentarily considered confessing to her: telling her that in his jealousy, he'd ordered Alaric to leave her alone, that he was the reason her Christmas present had been returned and her letters had gone unanswered, and that maybe if she reached out to him when she left…

But as the moment dragged on, Oliver realized he couldn't do it. He thought back to that night in the hospital wing, and he realized he couldn't see the disappointment in her face again as she grasped how truly selfish he was. So instead, he swallowed his guilt and decided that he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. Kaitlyn Davis would be happy, he decided, even if it wasn't as his wife.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, feeling helpless.

Another thin, forced smile. "Just call me a car," she requested simply.

Oliver wanted to hug her, but he realized it would be more for his benefit than hers, so he remained rooted to his spot. He'd been selfish enough. "Of course," he agreed.

For a second, it looked like she was going to say something else, but instead, she picked up Pawnds' carrier. "Goodbye then," she nodded before she crossed to the door.

But then her hand faltered on the golden doorknob, and she did turn back to Oliver, eyes filled to the brim with water. "You have become so much more than I ever expected," she declared, "And you two are going to be an incredible king and queen."

A bittersweet smile tugged at Oliver's face. "I have a feeling that you're going to do some pretty incredible things too, Kaitlyn," he responded. "Please never forget that you have friends here—and not just Mae."

Finally, with a terse nod, Lady Kaitlyn Davis disappeared through the door. Oliver waited for a moment until he couldn't hear the sound of her footsteps any longer before he departed from the room.

He'd agonized over his proposal for days now, since the moment that he'd realized Mae would be the one he married in the romantic literature section at the Gauges' wedding. The side of him that had a flair for dramatics had wanted to go all out: flowers everywhere, fireworks, a full orchestra playing a romantic song.

But he'd realized that he and Mae didn't need all of that. She'd find it unnecessary anyway, always preferring their simpler, more sentimental moments. When Eadlyn had finally relented and granted her blessing the previous day, he'd thought long and hard before he'd settled on the perfect manner.

But first, he had a couple things to take care of.

Although his initial reaction to Eadlyn's concession had obviously been excitement, his stomach had slowly sunk as he remembered the way he'd thrown the engagement ring he'd commissioned for Mae. The little velvet box still sat on his bedside table, but when he checked to see if Anderson had perhaps found the ring and returned it to its container, he'd been sorely disappointed.

The situation had called for reinforcements, so when he returned to his room, Elijah and Tristan were already awaiting him. "You look tan," Elijah noted, "Nice way to run off to fucking paradise without me."

"I'll make it up to you," Oliver promised, "but right now, we have more important things going on."

"Like…?" prompted Tristan. The enormous cast on his right arm made it impossible for him to cross his arms in impatience, but Oliver imagined that's what he'd be doing if he could.

"I sort of lost something," Oliver explained tentatively.

"Something?" Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Why do I have a feeling that it's something important?"

"Because it is," admitted Oliver.

Elijah looked sympathetic. "Is it the key to the liquor cabinet again?" Oliver shook his head, wishing it were that simple.

"Signet ring?" Tristan guessed.

Another shake of the head. Elijah tried again. "Member card to that secret club in Paris?"

"No," countered Oliver.

"Grandfather's cufflinks?" Tristan tried.

Oliver's patience was wearing thin. "No, it's more important than those," he huffed.

"Your emergency condom?" Elijah suggested, already reaching for his own wallet to offer one up.

"I lost Mae's four-million-dollar engagement ring!" Oliver announced, tired of the guessing game.

Both men's eyes widened in shock. "You got her a four-million-dollar ring?" squeaked Tristan.

Elijah, on the other hand, quickly turned to laughter. "How'd you lose something like that, you bougie asshole?"

"I sort of…" Threw a fit. "Dropped it and neglected to pick it up," Oliver explained. "But I need you guys to help me find it. It's somewhere in this damn room."

Elijah glanced around Oliver's large quarters. "Well, that really narrows it down. Thank you for that."

Tristan held a hand out. "Time out. Did you say Mae?"

He'd forgotten that he hadn't had the chance to tell any of his friends or even about his brother. "Yeah," he grinned, his panic over the ring momentarily forgotten, "I talked to Mom, and…" Threw another fit. "Made a stand."

"Wow." Tristan looked shocked but impressed.

Elijah pulled his friend into a one-armed hug and mused his hair. "Our little Ollie's growing up!"

"Alright, alright," Oliver laughed as he escaped Elijah's grip, "Can we focus, please?"

The three jumped into action. Elijah took the study—although Oliver knew there was no way the ring had bounced that far and was fairly certain his friend was just making himself a drink instead—while Tristan used his good arm to search in the couch and through all of Oliver's bedding. Oliver, for his part, dropped to his knees and began searching the floor.

It took a solid hour of destroying the room—Anderson at their heels trying to put it all back together—before Tristan declared, "Not sure if this is it, but it definitely looks like four million bucks."

Oliver sighed in relief as he plucked the ring from his brother's hands. "I've never been so glad you're my brother, Tris," he declared.

Tristan's brow furrowed. "Uh, thanks, I guess…"

Elijah wandered back in from the study, a glass of scotch clutched in his hand. He whistled as he examined the ring. "Not bad," he declared, "Might actually be enough to get someone to agree to marry you."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the help, but get out now," he ordered as he returned the ring to its small box.

"Wow, some thanks we get," scoffed Elijah.

"Sorry," shrugged Oliver, "I got a proposal to prepare for." He ushered the two towards the door, and as they left, another man appeared in the doorway.

The man was bald and bearded, almost as large as Jonathan. "Are you Alejandro?" Oliver asked.

He nodded. "At your service."

"Great." Oliver showed him in and gestured to his room. "Set up anywhere works for you."

A few minutes later, Alejandro beckoned Oliver over to a chair as he began to unpack the materials that Oliver had requested he bring. He had huge hands that made Oliver a little nervous, since he hadn't intended for the tattoo to be enormous. But he also looked excited and had kind eyes, so Oliver decided not to question his skill as he settled himself in the chair that had been set up at the workstation. "Such an honor, Your Highness," the man declared brightly as he readied everything.

He showed Alejandro the example that he'd sketched out before he requested, "Just make it… better and not in my shitty handwriting." Once they'd picked a simple font and a sample had been applied to the inside of Oliver's bicep, he leaned back, and Alejandro picked up his needle. A steady buzz filled the room as he lowered the needle to Oliver's arm.

It didn't hurt as badly as he'd expected. It felt a little like a scratch from Pawnds, and there was no blood, although his skin reddened beneath the tan from Brazilia.

His stomach churned as he thought about what awaited him and the ring box that was burning in the pocket of his jeans. "First tattoo?" Alejandro asked.

"How'd you know?" Oliver chuckled. He knew he wasn't being a big baby about the discomfort.

Alejandro grinned. "You seem a little nervous."

"I am," Oliver admitted. He chewed his lip for a moment before he added, "Are you married?"

There was a pause as the man proudly gestured to his ring finger. It was concealed under a pair of black gloves, but there was the clear outline of a wedding band. "Twenty years."

Oliver let out a whistle. "That's a long time. How'd you know they were the one?"

Alejandro paused. "I met him for the first time when we were nineteen, and I couldn't get him out of my head," he admitted. "I figured there was a reason."

"I'm proposing to someone today," Oliver blurted out, "Right after this, actually."

The tattoo artist looked shocked by the prince's admission. "Well, congratulations, Your Highness."

"There were a few… speed bumps," continued Oliver, "but it feels like she's more than the person I want to marry."

Alejandro paused. "Sort of like the person you didn't know you'd spent your life looking for?"

And Oliver realized that was exactly it. "Yeah," he nodded, a slow smile spreading over his face.

Alejandro put the needle down, the last of the tattoo having been inked, and asked excitedly, "What do you think?"

"It's perfect," he declared. Alejandro snapped a picture for his portfolio—Oliver hoped that being able to list a prince as a member of his clientele would be good for business—and bandaged the spot.

He thanked the tattoo artist once more before he made his way down to the pool, where he'd asked Mae to meet him. The warm January weather left Mae perched on the edge of the pool. She was dressed in a boxy white sweater and a sapphire blue skirt, her shoes sat beside her as she kicked her feet in the water. Despite the beautiful day and how lovely she looked—a given for Mae, really—she looked sad, and Oliver realized she had no reason to expect that their conversation would end in a proposal, since she didn't know he'd set things right with his mother.

"Hey," he greeted her as he sat down on the ground beside her.

She smiled, but the light didn't reach her eyes. "You're back."

He nodded. "Sure am."

"I heard Margaery left," she noted, "I guess that means…" She wiggled her nose as those she was trying to stave off the tears.

"Xander said she got home safely," confirmed Oliver.

"So, Kaitlyn?" Mae asked, turning to face him. Before he could reply—or even shake his head—she forced a wider smile. "I-I'm really happy for you."

"Mae," he began.

As he watched her try to keep the look of forced happiness on her face, he fell in love with her a little more. That was just who Mae was. Her own heart could be breaking, and she would still try to be happy for the people that she loved. "So, that's it, huh?" she asked, glancing around the grounds as like she'd never see them again. "Back to Yukon."

Instead of directly refuting her assumption, Oliver pulled the leather-bound journal that she'd given him for Christmas from his back pocket. "I believe this belongs to you," he noted.

Tears did fill her eyes this time, and she looked down towards the pool. "It was a gift," she pointed out, "I meant everything that I said in it."

Oliver smiled, an enormous grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and did immense things for his general attractiveness. He gently tilted her chin up so that he could meet her gaze. "I was hoping you were going to say that."

She pulled back. "Oliver… if this is your way of trying to say goodbye—"

"Look, I did a lot of thinking in Brazilia—"

She cut him off again. "Oliver, please," she frowned, "Just because I understand why it has to be this way doesn't make it any easier."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Mae, are you ever gonna let me say anything?"

Her frown deepened. "What is there to say, Oliver?" she asked as she pulled her feet out of the water and reached for her shoes. "We knew that this was the way it was going to end, a-and I just need some time, bu-but I truly do wish you and Kaitlyn the best—"

The sun had begun to set in the sky, and Oliver panicked a little, as he was working on a bit of a time crunch. "Do you remember when you leant me _The Alchemist_?" he asked loudly, effectively cutting her off.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"One of the lines that stood out the most to me was, 'You will never be able to escape from your heart. So, it is better to listen to what it has to say,'" he recited. "It bothered me at the time, because I think I've spent a lot of my life trying to escape—from pressure and expectations but also just what I wanted and thought I'd never be able to have."

"Going to Brazilia was another attempt at escaping," he acknowledged, "but this time, I was trying to run from something that I couldn't handle."

"What was that?" Mae asked.

"The prospect of a life without you," he shrugged simply, and new tears filled her eyes. He had a feeling that she could understand the way he'd been struggling since Eadlyn had condemned their relationship.

Her face still looked conflicted and confused, so he pressed on. "From the moment that I met you, you've been the person that has lit my soul on fire. At first, I was intimidated. I thought it was just by you, because I'd never met someone as beautiful and confident and intelligent as you are, but then I realized that didn't scare me nearly as much as my feelings for you did."

"I know this hasn't been easy," he admitted, "At times, it's really sucked. But I wouldn't trade a second of the last five months, because they brought me to you."

He took a deep breath but found the admission that he'd grappled with for far too long didn't feel so scary anymore. In its place was excitement, because it would be the first time he got to say the phrase to her in happiness instead of as part of a goodbye. "I love you," he declared, "When I read through that journal, it was like I was reading every thought and feeling that I've ever had about you, plucked right out of my brain."

Mae looked terrified, like she wasn't sure she could herself to accurately interpret what was happening before her eyes. "But your mother…"

"Is a very strong-willed woman, and in case you hadn't noticed, also where I get my temper from," Oliver concluded, "We both share this issue with being the last to know anything. And a dangerous ego." He paused in case Mae wanted to giggle, but they were being far too serious for giggles at the moment, so he continued on. "I knew that I couldn't abdicate—partially because I don't want to anymore, and I couldn't bear to subject you to the guilt that I knew that would make you feel—so I told her the truth: if I couldn't have you, I couldn't choose anyone, and I'd end the Selection alone."

"Is that enough though?" frowned Mae. "I know that she loves you, but she also has a very definite idea of what a queen should be."

Oliver smirked. "I hope so," he replied as he held out his left arm to her, "or else this is going to be really awkward." He nodded at the bandage on his arm, and Mae gently pulled it away.

Her glassy eyes scanned the numbers before her breath hitched in her throat. "Is that…?"

"That," Oliver declared, "is the coordinates of the beach in Paloma—the place where I fell in love with you."

He paused. "I know that being queen isn't something that anyone would necessarily pick," acknowledged Oliver, "It's a lot of work and dealing with people's opinions about every little thing that you do. It's hard, and some days, it's going to feel like too much. So, I know that it's not necessarily a given to choose this and to choose me."

Tears swarmed Mae's eyes, and she pressed a hand over her mouth like she couldn't believe what was happening. "But you're more than the love of my life," Oliver continued, "You're my soulmate. I don't want to be away from you for even a single day for the rest of my life." He shimmied the box from his pocket, and at that moment, the bushes lit up with the fairy lights that Oliver had carefully placed and timed to spell out, "Marry me?"

"All you have to do is say yes," Oliver declared as he opened the box to reveal the platinum, ten and a half carats emerald-cut diamond engagement ring. "And I really hope you do," he added, "because I really don't want to have to do laser tattoo removal."

After what seemed like the longest second of his life, Mae nodded. "Yes!" she declared as the tears squeaked out of the corners of her eyes.

It almost felt like Oliver hadn't been prepared for her to agree, because his instinctual response was to ask, "Really?!" She laughed and nodded, and together, they slid the ring onto the proper finger. Seeing the ring that he'd painstakingly described to the jeweler on her hand made everything feel so much more real.

They were doing it. They were the luckiest people in the world, because they got to spend forever together.

"And I love you too," Mae added with a smile, "in case you were wondering."

"Thanks for the confirmation," Oliver snorted. He pulled her into his arms, her body pressed tightly against his, and kissed his fiancée for the first time.

Mae pulled away. "By the way, we were supposed to get our tattoos _together_ ," she pointed out.

Oliver laughed. "Are you really complaining about this? I underwent some serious pain for this grand romantic gesture."

"Well, I'm getting one too, of course," Mae decided. Her smile became softer. "I fell in love there too, you know."

He examined her face—the bright green eyes with their dark frame of lashes, sharp cheekbones, soft lips—and marveled at the fact that he was going to get to marry this woman. "Luckily, I know a guy," he announced, "Come on." He pulled her to her feet, and together, the pair walked off into the beginning of the rest of their lives.

* * *

Oliver had never felt so prepared for an episode of _The Report_. He'd stood diligently for his suit fitting that morning, hadn't complained when his mother had requested he wear a crown, and had arrived at set earlier than any other member of the royal family. He was ready, excited even.

He turned to Mae. "Nervous?" he asked.

A lot had happened in the last couple of days. It had been a rush of preparation for their engagement announcement on that Friday's show. There'd been fittings for both of them, a prerecorded interview that would be released later that weekend once the announcement was made on the live show, photoshoots, Mae's move to the princess suite, and a flurry of other beginning stages of planning for their wedding, which was slated for the beginning of April.

All in all, she seemed to be handling the transition well. Although they'd both been kept fairly busy, every time he saw her, she looked happy, which was more than enough for Oliver.

"No," she countered as she smiled up at him. "I've been waiting for this moment all week. I'm ready to officially take you off the market."

"I'm about to be the envy of every guy in the country," he grinned. She was dressed in a sparkling purpley blue evening gown with a high halter neckline in the front, a low back, and a glamorous train. It revealed the new tattoo she'd gotten a few days ago, a matching set of coordinates on the back of her rips on her right side. "You already look like a princess."

Before Mae could do much more than smile happily, a voice declared, "Not quite yet."

They both turned to see Eadlyn standing behind them, and Mae nervously chewed his lip. Although Eadlyn had eventually consented to their union, Oliver had a feeling that his fiancée was still a little insecure about the strong opposition that his mother had initially had to her.

"But this should do the trick," Eadlyn declared as she held an elegant, mahogany box out to Mae.

Oliver and Mae exchanged perplexed looks before she reached out to open the box. Sitting amongst a bed of purple satin was a diamond encrusted tiara, one that he'd seen his mother wear on numerous occasions and knew was one of her favorites. "It's an engagement gift," Eadlyn explained, "My way of welcoming you to the family." She gave a small smile, as though she too was still a little wary given the complicated past that she had with her son's new wife-to-be.

Mae's jaw dropped as she removed the tiara from the box and examined it. It was beautifully crafted, the diamonds forming swirls in the body of the tiara while little diamond shaped points of jewels jutted out from the upper edge. "It's beautiful, Your Majesty," Mae admitted. "Thank you so much."

Eadlyn smiled, but there seemed to be something hesitant in her demeanor. An awkward silence passed over the three of them before Eadlyn requested, "May I?" She held her hand out for the tiara, her eyes focused on Mae's hair, which was already pulled into an elegant yet relaxed bun.

"Oh." Mae's eyes lit up. "Of course." She handed the tiara to Eadlyn, and the two women stepped towards one of the vanities that were available backstage to make sure that the royal family always looked camera ready.

Oliver watched as Eadlyn settled the tiara into Mae's hair, carefully making sure that it was secure but didn't upset the style. It was something he'd watched her do for Celine numerous times before, and there was something about it that made him feel oddly sentimental. He tried to shake the feeling off, thinking instead of how much Elijah would make fun of him if he noticed.

"Perfect," Eadlyn announced with a smile. She settled her hands on Mae's shoulders as both women examined the reflection in the mirror. "And… well, no more of this 'Your Majesty' nonsense. I think Eadlyn or… mom, if you're comfortable, will do just fine."

There was another silence, but it was much less awkward than before. Oliver was fighting the tingling feeling in his nose, while his mom and fiancée seemed to be having a moment of their own. Mae took one of Eadlyn's hands in her own. "Thank you."

Eadlyn nodded and fixed them each with one more smile before she swept away towards her usual seat where Kile was waiting for her. They appeared to have moved past their disagreement of the last week as well, and Kile hugged his wife tightly when she reached him.

The ten second countdown to the show's commencement began. "Ready?" Oliver asked as he took Mae's hand.

"For anything," she promised as her fingers entwined with his.

The cameras came to life, and Coen took his place center stage. "Illéa, for the last few months, we have followed our crown prince on an incredible journey to find his wife and your next queen. There have certainly been highs and lows, and we have met some incredible ladies throughout the process," he recounted. "But our prince has finally found love, and today, you will get to meet that lovely woman. For the first time, please join me in welcoming Prince Oliver and the future Princess Maelys!"

There was a thunderous applause from the audience, and the pair walked onto the stage together. The lights were blinding, and Mae seemed a little taken aback by their greeting. "This is crazy," she laughed under her breath to Oliver.

"Welcome to the first day of the rest of our lives," he chuckled. She simply clutched his arm a little tighter in response.

"Hey," he added as a thought popped into his head, "How do you feel about New Asian New Year?"

"Love it," she beamed up at him.

Oliver sighed as he stared down at her, more content than he'd been in recent memory. "Love _you_ ," he replied. Despite all the cameras and the cheering from the live studio, it felt like they were the only two people in the world for the moment.

"I love you," Mae smiled in response. Oliver grinned and turned towards her, pulling her to him. He kissed her deeply, and as he felt her lips smile against his, he decided that, no matter what happened, life was going to be okay, because he'd found Mae.


	46. Epilogue

Mornings were always one of Eadlyn's favorite times of the day. Even with the busyness of the last couple of months when the palace had been stocked full of constant visitors, the morning had provided her with a constant, unerring reprieve.

She leaned back in her seat and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders to protect her against the chill of the March morning. The air was crisp, spring and its renewal still just out of reach. As usual, a stack of magazines and newspapers sat on a table before her, but she didn't peruse them this particular morning.

The French doors opened, and her husband stepped onto the porch in his bathrobe and slippers, a pair of mugs clutched in his hands. "Morning, Eady." His voice was still thick with sleep as he settled himself beside her.

Eadlyn accepted her coffee and leaned into Kile's side. "Good morning."

"You look like you're in a good mood," noted Kile. "Have I missed something?"

"Our sons getting married today," smiled Eadlyn. "I think I half doubted that we'd actually make it to a wedding. You know Oliver."

"I'm not surprised," countered Kile, "Mae's the one for him."

Eadlyn picked up one of the magazines on the table, scanning the cover. Only a few months ago, the tabloids had proclaimed him the "Pleasure Prince" and mocked her decision to maintain his position as her heir. Now, they dubbed his upcoming nuptials the "greatest event of the century" and salivated over his love story with Maelys Villeneuve.

Eadlyn examined her future daughter-in-law, staring up at her from their engagement announcement in _The Illéan Times_. "Do you think she really loves him?" she frowned.

"Is that what you're really worried about?" Kile laughed. "Not whether people will expect him to take the crown soon or her, uh, background."

Eadlyn rolled her eyes. "No," she declared, "None of that bothers me anymore. I just want to know that he's going to be happy, and she's going to be a good wife."

Kile gave her a little squeeze. "That's the last thing you have to worry about Eady," he declared. "I think they're going to be very happy."

* * *

"Oliver."

Silence.

" _Oliver_."

Nothing.

"Oliver!"

Finally, a groan. A head of messy brown curls rose from a tangle of blankets and pillows and glanced around, hazel eyes bleary and unfocused. When they landed on the figure beside him, the prince's face broke into a lazy smile. "Lady Mae." He reached out to pull his fiancée into his chest, wrapping his arms full around her.

Mae giggled as she tried to scoot away from him. "You have to get up," she told him, "I've been putting my maids off for an hour."

He tightened his grip so she couldn't escape, burying his face in her wavy hair and its familiar rose scent. "They can wait," he decided.

"You're not even supposed to see me before later," she pointed out, her voice affectionately exasperated. "It's bad luck."

"I don't believe in bad luck anymore," declared Oliver as he kissed her shoulder. "I have you, which I'm pretty sure qualifies me as the luckiest person in the world."

Mae seemed momentarily placated. "I won't argue that."

Oliver laughed and muttered something about his wife-to-be's humility. "Are you nervous?" he asked, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

Mae rested her head back on his shoulder and smiled. "No. Not at all."

The expression was mirrored on Oliver's face. "Me neither." It was true. After months of uncertainty and doubt, he felt more certain than he'd ever been about anything in his life.

But although Mae's smile didn't falter, Oliver saw her eyes fall to a beautiful, enormous bouquet on her nightstand. He tightened his embrace in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Have you talked to Kaitlyn since she told you she couldn't be a bridesmaid?"

"Just through letters," Mae admitted, "She's studying infectious diseases in Sahara with a French physician right now, so it's a little hard to talk to get ahold of her." There was a pause. "I understand why she couldn't be here, but I wish it were different."

"I know," he sighed. He felt a little guilty. The crux of dating thirty-five girls at once was that it was difficult to avoid hurt feelings. "She'll come around. You guys have a pretty solid friendship."

"We do," Mae agreed, a small smile tugging at her beautiful face.

Before either could say anything further, the doors to Mae's room burst open. "Okay, Oliver we expected to still be in bed," Presley sighed, "but really, Mae, you too?"

Mae smiled sheepishly. "He's a bad influence?"

Oliver gave an exaggerated gasp. "Traitor."

Isolde crossed her arms. "Crown prince or not, it's time for you to go," she declared, "Not everything is at your leisure, Your Royal Laziness."

"Like weddings," quipped Presley, "So, if you want us to deliver your lovely bride on time, scoot."

"Alright, alright," he sighed. He tossed the blankets off and gave Mae a quick kiss. "Six hours," he whispered in reference to the countdown that the two had been maintaining since they'd picked a date.

"Can't come soon enough," Mae smiled in response.

* * *

As their carriage slowed outside of St. Sebastian's, the thunderous roar of the crowds awaiting the arrival of their new princess greeted them. "Wow," Mae swallowed as she glanced out the window. The sheer number of people was overwhelming.

"There's still time to escape," Kile noted.

Mae laughed as she turned back to Oliver's father. "Not a chance," she declared.

"I didn't think so," Kile admitted. "Ready?"

She nodded firmly, and when the footman opened the door, Kile exited first, causing another loud cheer. The king consort waved to the people for a minute before he offered her a hand to help her from the carriage. Her wedding dress was beautiful, an off the shoulder creation with billowing yards of delicately embroidered lace, but it did make moving a little more difficult. She made it out of the carriage without tripping or accidentally knocking off the tiara that Eadlyn had leant her for the wedding—her two biggest fears about her grand arrival—and if she thought Kile's greeting had been raucous, she was thoroughly overcome by the reception that she received. She raised a hand in greeting to them, perfectly executing the delicate wave that Celine had taught her shortly after her engagement had been announced.

Kile offered his arm to her, and Mae had to take a second to collect her emotions. When Kile had asked if she'd permit him to walk her down the aisle, there'd been a bevy of tears from everyone present. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, one that she appreciated immensely. "Thank you for doing this," she smiled as she slipped her arm through his. "It really means a lot to me."

"Thank you for allowing me," Kile returned, "I really am honored."

It felt like she couldn't breathe as she walked down the aisle towards him. The church looked beautiful, decorated in accordance with the 'winter wonderland' theme they'd gone for, and the pews were nearly filled with everyone from visiting royals to past Selected and members of Oliver's extended family.

But she couldn't see anyone besides him. Their eyes were locked on each other, like they were the only two people that existed at that moment. They'd practiced her walk down the aisle extensively at the rehearsal—Eadlyn was determined for the wedding to go off without a single hitch—but if it weren't for Kile, she would've forgotten the slow, elegant pace she was supposed to keep and kicked off her shoes to run to him as fast as she could.

When they finally reached the altar and Kile placed her hands in Oliver's, Mae's heartbeat was hammering against her ribcage incessantly. It was finally happening. She was _marrying_ him.

"You okay?" Oliver asked in a low voice as the priest began to speak.

"Better than okay," she realized, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

She'd known she was bound to cry, something that she had discussed with the woman who had been employed to do her makeup, but she still didn't feel prepared when Oliver began to deliver his vows. "I grew up thinking I had just about everything. Being a prince will do that to you. My life was supposed to be magical—castles and crowns and more power than I knew what to do with. But it honestly didn't feel like anything special—until I met you. You are the thing that makes my life extraordinary. And I promise to thank you for that every day. I promise to take you to the snow every Christmas, I promise to watch your ridiculous romantic movies like _Dirty Dancing_ with you, I promise to never complain about how long it takes you to get ready, even though you're beautiful in anything. And if I ever flake on any of these things, you have three hundred witnesses here to back you up when you come for me."

The crowd chuckled, and Oliver paused to smile at her before he pressed on. "But mostly I promise to always be here for you and be the family that you deserve, because I love you more than I thought it was possible to love another person."

And that's how he really got the tears. She'd resigned herself to a lonely life after her parents' deaths, and it was still hard to realize sometimes that that didn't have to be her future anymore. She had to pause to collect herself before she delivered her own vows in return.

"Oliver," she began, her smile radiant as she stared up at the love of her life, "The very first time I met you, I thought, 'Wow—this boy is a mess.'" The guests chuckled in amusement, and she heard Presley's snort from where she stood with Isolde and Celine. Even Oliver laughed. "But every day since then, you have amazed me. Every time I think there is no way I could possibly love you more, you do something that makes me fall harder. I love you for your intelligence and the way that you care about people and your cheesy jokes and the way that you make me feel like I could do anything in the world. Life hasn't always been easy, but there's not a single thing that I would change about it, because it led me to you."

She paused, the only quote that she'd ever read that could sum up her relationship with Oliver. 'And so I love you, because the entire universe conspired to help me find you,'" she choked out, and Oliver had to smile through his own tears as well.

The priest called for the thing rings, and Tristan and Isolde offered them to the pair. "Repeat after me," the priest requested, and they did. Once their rings had been delivered, the priest announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present His Royal Highness Crown Prince Oliver Maxon Lorne Woodwork-Schreave the First and Her Royal Highness Princess Maelys Elaina Woodwork-Schreave."

And Mae kissed her husband for the first of many, many times to come.

* * *

Summer in Angeles always brought high temperatures and plenty of sunshine. It wasn't like the hazy, oppressive kind of heat that blanketed the eastern coast of the country. Instead, it was inviting, a time for adventures. It made it difficult to justify work when the sun was high in the sky, and the weather encouraged play.

A desire to skive off of responsibilities had attacked King Oliver Woodwork-Schreave with a vengeance earlier that morning. While he had rarely missed meetings or canceled his day since he'd taken the crown three years ago, he hadn't been able to help himself when he'd seen what a beautiful day it was. So, before his wife could protest, he'd grabbed his laptop computer so that he wouldn't feel completely useless and told his butler to leave word that he was at the pool if anyone needed him.

As Oliver lounged on a chaise with a margarita in hand, watching his family play in the cool blue pool, he praised himself for making such a great decision. That is, until he saw his brother crossing the lawn from the direction of the castle.

By the time his brother and Lord Chancellor, Prince Tristan, had reached the pool, Oliver had pulled himself into a more dignified sitting position and poured Tristan a drink from the melting pitcher of margarita as a peace offering. "Playing hookey?" Tristan surmised as he took a seat beside Oliver and surprisingly accepted the drink.

Oliver shrugged. "I couldn't help myself."

"Well, I'd say you've built up some vacation time," snorted Tristan. "Want me to come back later?"

"Nah. Although you shoulda brought your swimsuit," he countered.

"I had some… important things to discuss," his brother admitted. He held up a file folder. "But I can really come back later tonight or something."

Oliver took a big drink of his margarita but shook his head. "Hit me."

Tristan raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

It must've been bad if Tristan was so hesitant. For a moment, Oliver considered taking his brother up on his offer and remaining blissfully ignorant for a little longer. But instead, he steeled himself and nodded.

"Tsarevich Vitaly is dead."

Nothing could have prepared Oliver for that news. Ice spread through his veins, as though his slushy drink had been injected directly into his bloodstream. He took his sunglasses off and turned to his brother, eyebrows furrowed. "How?"

"A riding accident," Tristan declared. "He was out with Nikolai, and apparently, his horse was spooked. A broken neck." Doubt cloaked his voice, a doubt that Oliver shared.

"Sara said that Vitaly was a skilled rider," Oliver mused, thinking back to a conversation that had seemed unimportant at the time. It felt like it had occurred a million years ago.

Tristan sighed. "The tsar is inconsolable, of course, but the new tsarevich has expressed his family's desolation and his dedication to his new role as the Russian heir," he added bitterly.

Oliver's stomach almost rebelled. Nikolai was now first in line to the throne. "We'll have a meeting about it tomorrow," Oliver sighed. It was a serious situation that would affect Illéa quite directly, since Oliver and Nikolai had a tense, if not openly hostile, relationship, but he wanted one more day of peace before everything came crashing down. "Can you tell the rest of the council and the generals?"

Tristan nodded, pulling out the work phone that was constantly on his person. "Anything else?" Oliver asked, desperately hoping his brother said no.

"It's not a political issue," Tristan admitted, "But I've had word from Likely. Alaric Illéa's wife is terminally ill."

The king paused. This news wasn't as immediately concerning as Nikolai's new power, although he did feel a rush of pity for his once-friend. "He has two children, doesn't he?" he mused.

Tristan nodded. "He's desperate. He's consulted with all kind of specialists."

"Even…?" Oliver turned to his brother, the question that he was loathe to express clear in his face.

"No," countered Tristan, "He hasn't contacted Kaitlyn. She's still in France." She'd spent the last five years working alongside the royal physician at the French palace, returning to Illéa only rarely for things like holidays or birthdays.

Oliver mulled over the situation for a long minute. He had a complicated relationship with Alaric and hadn't seen the man since he'd ordered him from the palace five years previous. "Well, consult with Dr. Groff," he decided, "See if there's anything he can do. Send him if so. If not, send our condolences."

Another message was typed into Tristan's phone. "That's all," he declared, "You're free to enjoy your day off." The phone was dropped back into the pocket of Tristan's slacks, and he took another sip from his glass.

Oliver refilled his own drink, trying to shake Nikolai and Alaric from his head. "How's Isolde?" he asked. "Is she back from Carolina yet?"

This time, Tristan looked troubled. "No, she was delayed." A frown creased his forehead. "We're… having some difficulty with the adoption agency."

"What?" Oliver arched an eyebrow in confusion. "That's crazy. You're a prince and princess of Illéa. How are you having difficulty?"

"We didn't want to use that to get it to go through," mumbled Tristan. "But, by usual adoption standards, I guess we're not…" He trailed off and sighed. "I don't know. We don't have a _technical_ income or our own home, we both have busy and unpredictable schedules… I get where they're coming from, but Ol, we really love Kingsley. If they _don't_ let us adopt him…"

Oliver put a hand on his brother's arm. "They will," he assured him, "even if it's by royal decree. You and Is might not want to throw around your weight, but I will. You guys are going to be great parents, and Kingsley fits in with the family so well. Nolan and Lea love him."

They both glanced towards the pool where Oliver and Mae's twin toddlers were splashing in the shallow end of the pool with his wife. She was in the stage where she still enjoyed dressing them similarly, so Nolan wore blue swim trunks with little white anchors while Lea had a white swimsuit with blue trim. Both faces were lit up with jubilation as they played in the pool.

"It'll work out," Oliver insisted, smiling as he watched his children.

Tristan's weary face relaxed into a smile of its own. "I hope so. I want that."

Mae seemed to notice the brothers' gazes, and she pointed it out to the two nearly three-year-olds. "Tell Daddy to come play," she urged the twins.

Lea, always a little more outgoing than Nolan, banged one of her toys on the edge of the pool, as though to demand Oliver's attention. "Daddy!" she yelled. "Come play!"

Nolan nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "Please come play, Daddy!" he called.

Oliver grinned at Tristan. "That's my cue," he declared. He slipped his button-up shirt, hat, and sunglasses off before he hustled to the edge of the pool—Lea didn't tolerate leisureliness—and slipped into the water, cringing briefly at its coolness.

"Everything okay?" Mae asked, her bright eyes laced with concern.

"We'll talk later," he demurred, "Right now, everything is perfect. Right, buddy?" He scooped Nolan from the water and tossed him into the air, causing his son to break into a peal of giggles and his wife to close her eyes.

"Me next!" Lea demanded excitedly.

"Of course, Princess," Oliver assured her, kissing Nolan's chubby cheek before he deposited his son back into the water. "Mommy after?" Oliver teased his wife, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Mae rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile she tried to hide from him. He took Lea and launched her into the air as he'd done with her brother, causing the little girl to shriek with excitement. She refused to be returned to the water though, instead climbing onto her father's back and insisting upon being chauffeured around the pool, which Oliver gladly complied with.

Mae and Nolan joined them a short while later on a plastic, inflatable dolphin. Nolan always grew concerned when he realized that his hands were pruning, so he'd retreated to the inflatable to play with the water through a pail and shovel instead of splashing around like his sister. "Are you _sure_ everything's okay?" Mae inquired as she steered Nolan's dolphin.

Oliver paused to examine his wife. She wore a bright green bikini that he realized was the same she'd worn on their first date in Paloma. It had been five years since they'd been married, but neither children nor being queen had changed her at all. He, on the other hand, had found a gray hair last week that he'd promptly plucked out and resolved never to tell anyone about.

He pulled her through the water to kiss her, causing both twins to begin yelling in concern at the PDA. Even after five years, every time he kissed her he was reminded of the fireworks their first kiss had caused after they'd tried the ridiculous _Dirty Dancing_ dance move by that very pool. Despite the twins' clamor, Mae smiled up at him like he was the only person in the world for that second. "Everything is perfect," Oliver insisted.

Yes, he had work to do tomorrow. But for now, he was going to enjoy the perfect day with his family.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And that's a wrap. I got all of my emotions out in the last chapter, but again, just thank you so much. I'm going to post the summary for the sequel below as a little teaser, so if you're interested in getting involved, the form to send in a character is on my profile :)

 _If We Ever See the Sun_ : When the outbreak of World War V threatens Illéa's peace, King Oliver is faced with a fearful, divided nation and torn between action and isolation. To distract and unify his people, Oliver turns to his dutiful heir. Plagued by anxiety and inexperienced in love, Prince Nolan doesn't feel ready for a Selection. But he'd do anything for Illéa, so the next Selection begins.


End file.
